


Ruff Times

by othellia



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Season/Series 05, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14809007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/othellia/pseuds/othellia
Summary: Set in an AU summer after S5 where Buffy manages to beat Glory without sacrificing herself.The divine threat is gone, but daily struggles never stop. With both slaying and a new job, Buffy doesn't have the energy to figure out Spike's new role in her life... until a spell ripples through Sunnydale, turning the local demon population into dogs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Real life is kicking my butt a bit, so I'm switching gears and taking a slight pause from my other in-progress BtvS story. This going to be a shorter romp, about 7-10 chapters, with a mix of angst and crack and ultimate fluffiness.
> 
> Thanks to OffYourBird for beta'ing!

The TV screen freeze-framed on the camp’s celebration and then slowly faded to black. As the credits began to roll, the disembodied voice of one of the counselors tried his best to get the younger boys to sing along to the official Camp Hope song.

“That was better than it had any right to be,” Spike said over the resulting guitar chords.

“I  _told_  you,” Dawn said, lightly punching him on the shoulder. “Start trusting my taste for once.”

“No way.” Xander fished around his popcorn bowl for the last few kernels. “You’re still at least five more good movies away from making back the cred you lost with  _Cutthroat Island_.”

Dawn made a squeak of protest. “That one wasn’t my fault! It had a really cool cover and it was about pirates and everything! It should’ve been awesome!”

“I liked how this movie’s conflict stemmed from a bad financial decision,” Anya said. “It’s a serious and terrifying problem that’s not utilized in fictional narratives nearly as much as it could be.”

A smile tugged its way up Buffy’s face as both Xander and Spike ignored Anya’s attempt at a serious, thematic discussion of a kid’s comedy film in favor of teasing Dawn over her long history of bad movie picks. It was nice, she realized—the seven of them relaxing like this, having a normal night in. Or at least their best version of normal. Most people didn’t have patrol and could start their movie nights earlier than midnight.

“Hey guys,” Buffy said. “I think we lost Willow and Tara.”

The others followed her eyes to where the two witches were curled up fast asleep on the armchair that’d been dragged in from the other room.

Xander yawned. “About to lose us too. Ready, Ahn?”

Anya nodded, engagement ring sparkling as she stretched her arms—she’d triumphantly revealed it to ooh’s and ah’s during the first yay-we-just-beat-a-god party. And Buffy had been happy for her.

Turning off the movie, Buffy began roaming the living room, picking up empty popcorn bowls. Her gaze lingered on Willow and Tara when she grabbed theirs. They lived here now. Tara hadn’t had anywhere else to go after the college dorms had closed for the summer now that she’d been officially disowned—no, disowned made it sound like they were a family Tara regretted losing—now that she’d found a better family.

“Come on, Deadboy. Buffy doesn’t want a black lump staining her furniture.”

Spike glowered from his spot on the couch, then settled back, sinking into the cushions. “And you’re the expert on everythin’ Buffy wants now?”

Buffy tightened her grip on the popcorn bowls.

Ever since Glory’s defeat, Spike’s role within the Scoobies had become… complicated. Buffy knew that Willow and Giles—and even Xander, most days—appreciated the vampire’s help, appreciated the way he could possibly help with future threats, but that’s where their comfort ended. They didn’t understand how that practical appreciation translated to inviting him to purely social events like tonight. Buffy knew they didn’t understand because, despite Dawn usually doing the inviting, Buffy was the one they came to with their concerns. Because it wasn’t like Spike himself had changed. He was simply looking for ways into Buffy’s good graces. Saving Dawn from Glory had been another soulless, calculated means to an end…

That’s what they all told her, anyway.

Buffy wanted to agree. And she would’ve agreed. Maybe. Last year she would’ve said she knew all there was to know about vampires. Now…

Now there was a giant gum-wad stuck in her head that she didn’t want to poke, let alone examine in detail.

“Xander’s right,” Buffy heard herself say. “It’s late. We should all call it a night.”

Dawn perked up. “If Spike wants to stay, we’ve got that cot in the basement he could totally—”

“Dawn!” Buffy snapped. “Spike’s not staying here.” She kept her eyes on her sister, trying not to imagine the hurt puppy-dog look Spike was probably exuding. She tempered her earlier words: “And neither is Xander.”

Xander looked far from distraught. “Yeah, Spikey. We’ve both gotta go.” He grinned. “Of course, if one of us happens to be going home to a nice warm bed with an absolutely beautiful, amazing fiancé”—he gave Anya a quick kiss—“and the other to a moldy old crypt, well… maybe that’s a PSA in basic life choices kicking in.”

Spike stood up. “You want life choices, Harris?” he growled. “I’ll show you life choices.”

Buffy switched the popcorn bowls to one hand and hauled Spike back. “No threatening friends,” she said coldly, reminding him of the new Scooby rules they’d had to make after his official induction—despite his chip, he could still do serious damage in the first blow. She shoved him sideways. “Out. Now.”

“No fair!” Dawn whined. “Xander started it!”

“Oh my God,” Buffy said, whirling to face her sister. “This isn’t first grade! I don’t care who started it! Besides, Xander’s human, Spike’s a vampire, and—”

The kitchen door slammed shut, echoing through the house; Spike was gone.

Willow jumped. “Huh?” she asked, groggy. “What happened? Did they fix the Blob?”

“Great job.” Dawn crossed her arms. “You scared him away.”

Xander snorted. “Like the big bad vampire gets scared.”

Dawn leveled him with a glare. “Don’t you have some great, warm bed to get back to?”

Xander opened his mouth, some undoubtedly witty comeback hanging just on the edge of his tongue, then Anya tugged his sleeve.

“Come on, honey,” she said.

And then they left.

Dawn switched her disapproving gaze to Buffy.

“What,” Buffy said.

Willow and Tara glanced briefly at each other, then silently headed up to bed.

When Dawn refused to answer, Buffy sighed. “You don’t have to get all offended for Spike,” she said. “Xander was just joking around. It’s what he does.”

“Yeah, but it’s still…” Dawn’s face scrunched up. “What’s so wrong with Spike staying in the basement?”

A thousand feelings sprang to mind, and no words. Buffy rotated the popcorn bowls in her hands. “He’s a vampire. He probably prefers his crypt anyway.”

“You don’t know that. Besides, he’s just gonna come over tomorrow.”

“Dawn, he can’t stay here!” Buffy snapped, wishing her sister would just  _understand_. “This isn’t his home!”

Dawn flinched, then stared at the floor. “It could be,” she finally muttered.

Buffy pretended she didn’t hear it. Her little sister was mentally living in a fantasy—in a sitcom version of life with a soulless vampire—and… well, even if Spike hadn’t done anything overtly  _terrible_  since Drusilla had last swung into town, it still didn’t mean… that is, things were already, perfectly fine the way they were. Glory was gone, Buffy had new problems to deal with, and… And Willow and Giles had a point. Spike had only helped out because of his messed-up feelings, and Buffy didn’t want to offer up her house and life like it was some kind of reward because then he’d just keep doing more and then keep  _expecting_  more, and Buffy wasn’t sure how much she had left to give.

To anyone.

Buffy lifted the popcorn bowls. “I need to wash these.”

She moved to the kitchen. Hand-labeled mason jars stuffed with herbs lined its counters. A pan lay crusted to the stove, charred blue from Willow’s latest experimental concoction. Buffy tossed the popcorn bowls in the sink and let her gaze slip past it to the junk drawer on the left side.

Yep, perfectly fine.

With a deep breath, Buffy opened the drawer. Part of her hoped Sunnydale’s residual magic would’ve swallowed a couple envelopes since the last time she looked…

Nope. Crammed full as ever.

She flipped through the top layer. Bills. All of them.

It wasn’t like she was  _intentionally_  ignoring them.

She’d asked Giles for help first, an action that’d prompted a lecture about how he shouldn’t be managing Buffy’s finances for her, that it was something she needed to learn now that she was an adult, even though total takeover was totally  _not_  what she’d asked him to do.

She’d tried Willow and Xander next, but they’d been equally helpless—Willow because she’d never paid a single bill in her entire life, and Xander because he had Anya to do it—and then that had led to Anya’s version of help, which consisted of Anya assuming Buffy already knew everything there was about different types of bank accounts and mortgage funds versus escrow funds and insurance deductibles and Buffy asking questions every thirty seconds and Anya looking at her like she was stupid for not knowing all of it from birth and…

And…

A headache began to throb at the sides of Buffy’s head. She shoved the drawer closed, flicked off the lights, and went to bed.

* * *

“Block higher,” Giles said, surveying the current fight from a safe distance. “Don’t let exhaustion drag your movements.”

Buffy ignored her Watcher, intentionally sweeping low because that’s where the vampire had been aiming. With his full beard and hulking stature, he looked like a passing biker, one who’d made a pit stop in the wrong part of town. As he threw another punch, Buffy blocked it, letting herself sink into the almost meditative push and pull of the fight…

Or at least she tried to.

A hollowness had rooted itself in her chest, nibbling wider and wider by the day. Buffy used to think it was Glory-stress, that it’d disappear as soon as the hell god was defeated, but if anything it’d only gotten worse. It was like everything in her life had been squeezing and squeezing until that final showdown, and then… nothing. She’d woken up the next day and her mom was still dead and there were still vampires to slay and bills kept stacking themselves up on the counter. Xander had helped out with that last one at least, getting her a summer job at his construction company. But even though that was making ends meet for now, Buffy had no clue how she was going to juggle work with college once it started up again in the fall. She didn’t even know what classes she was going to take. There were the ones she had to repeat from when she’d dropped out last semester, but after that…

Buffy distantly realized Giles was still talking and it wasn’t about the fight. She landed a kick that slammed the vampire into a distant tombstone, gaining her a few seconds of rest.

“What did you say?” she asked.

Giles sighed, lips tugging down into the constant frown he seemed to wear these days. “This is exactly my point, Buffy. I’m getting the sense— well, have been getting it for sometime, that you no longer need—”

There was a strangled sound from the vampire.

Buffy turned and braced herself for some last ditch suicide attack, but the vampire was leaned harmlessly against a tombstone, clutching at his chest. His features began to morph, bones stretching and crunching in his face, and not in the normal bumpies way. His thick beard spread, covering his face even as the hair itself shrank in length, as his whole body shrank and shrank…

Leaving behind a pitbull.

The dog poked its snout out of the now oversized shirt collar, then wriggled out of its pants, which fell in a crumpled heap to the ground. It shook itself off, tottering slightly, then looked up at Buffy and Giles. With a terrified yelp, it ran off into the darkness.

Buffy and Giles looked at each other.

“That’s…” Giles finally started. He blinked. Paused. “Well, ‘unexpected’ is probably an understatement, but…”

“Hooray for yet another weird day on the Hellmouth?” Buffy ventured.

Giles cleared his throat. “One of Dracula’s powers is animal transformation. Specifically into bats and wolves.” He reached into his jacket pocket for a small notebook. “Perhaps this vampire possesses the same powers?”

“Maybe…” Buffy bit her lip. The vampire’s transformation just now hadn’t looked planned in the slightest. She approached the jeans that’d been left on the ground and carefully toed them with a booted foot—she couldn’t remember for sure, but she was pretty certain Dracula’s clothes had transformed with the rest of him. “I want to go home,” she told Giles. “Check on Dawn. If there’s some new uber powered vamp in town…”

“More than understood,” Giles said. “I’ll reference my books and see if there are any other past instances of this sort of power. If I find anything…”

“I’ll be by the phone. Ready to pick up.”

With a nod and the promise to meet up at the Magic Box the following morning, they parted ways.

It was a short walk back to Revello Drive, but Buffy kept scanning the darkness, prepped for any sudden counterattack. She reached Restfield, started to pass it, and then paused. It’d been quiet since the pitbull vampire, so she probably didn’t need to _immediately_  get home and check on Dawn. Plus Spike might know something about it.

Increasing her pace to a half-walk, half-jog, she entered the cemetery.

Buffy was a hundred yards in, next to the recent burials, when she realized she wasn’t feeling any vampire tinglies anywhere. Not from the fresh graves beside her and not from Spike’s crypt up ahead, which was weird, because normally he stuck around until her patrol before heading out. Not that she specifically  _liked_  him sticking around, or that she expected him to do it, but it was still weird that—

Motion caught her eye.

Dirt shifted from the nearest grave, and Buffy’s hand went automatically to her stake. She waited for her spine to start prickling with the usual tinglies… but no. Still nothing.

Fear struck, sharp and cold. What if something had happened to her Slayer senses? Or was dampening them?

Buffy took a deep breath. She couldn’t afford to panic right before a fight. She’d stake the fledging when it popped up, and then worry about what-ifs after. She adjusted her grip on her stake, ready to strike.

A hand burst through the dirt—

Wait.

No.

Not a hand.

A paw.

Buffy stared as the small grey paw wiggled in the air, then smacked against the dirt. Another paw broke free, followed by a cute little pug’s face. It coughed for air.

Okay. Some definite major wigginess was going on. A spell or curse. Had to be. Because not only was it odds-defying that two vampires would suddenly gain doggy shape-shifting powers in a single night, but for one of them to turn into a pug?  _Voluntarily_  turn into a pug? No vampire would choose that. Well… maybe Harmony? But even that bimbo would pick a poodle or chihuahua over a flat-nosed, huffy pug.

The vampire pug wiggled, its bottom half clearly stuck, and then whined pathetically.

Buffy slowly turned her stake over and swallowed. Fighting a pitbull was one thing, but it felt a bit unfair to go after a pug. At the same time, she couldn’t just leave and have it turn back into a vampire and snack on people later…

A growl rumbled behind her, low and rough.

Buffy spun around. Between a pair of tombstones stood a giant dog with sleek, black fur and a white spot spanning its chest. The similarity was unmistakable.

“Spike?” Buffy asked. If it was a curse that’d grabbed hold of two vampires, it might have grabbed hold of all of them.

The dog’s lips curled back into a snarl, exposing two full rows of sharp white teeth.

The back of Buffy’s neck prickled for the first time. If the dog  _was_  Spike, he didn’t seem to recognize her. Perhaps the curse had put the demon fully in control? Since it was turning them into animals, the feral-ness made sense.

The dog suddenly crouched, then launched straight at her.

“Spike!” Buffy shouted, rolling out of the way just in time. She still had her stake, but she didn’t want to use it. “If that’s you in there, get a hold of yourself!”

He ignored her, spinning on all four limbs, prepping for a second attack.

“I said, stop! I don’t want to hurt you, and—”

The dog snarled as it aimed at her legs. Buffy’s foot swung into a kick, but at the moment of contact, she flinched—she couldn’t attack a dog!—and forty-two sharp teeth sunk into her boot. Buffy sucked in a hiss. She stumbled back, trying to shake the dog loose without seriously injuring him.

A frantic yapping split the air, and then a tan blur barreled into the black dog, knocking it off. There was a tumble of fur and teeth and claws and snarls and yaps, and then the black dog fled, whining and yelping into the night.

The tan blur steadied itself into a small, curly-haired terrier. It remained standing guard over Buffy, growling in the direction that its foe had vanished.

“Uh…” Buffy ventured. “I think he’s gone.”

The terrier yapped one more time at the shadows before finally turning its attention to Buffy. Its dark eyes bored into her own.

Buffy coughed. “Thanks, I guess? I mean, thanks if you’re a vampire and not a real dog that wouldn’t be able to understand that I’m thanking you right now.” The terrier sat calmly on its haunches, as if waiting for her to continue talking. “Though if you  _are_  a vampire, I honestly have no idea which one you’d be, since the only one who’d ever fight for me like that is…”

She paused, staring.

The terrier stared back.

It really was a tiny dog in the grand scheme of doggy-ness. A tiny dog that was somehow able to beat up dogs three times its size through sheer speed and grit alone. A dog that probably didn’t know when to quit. That probably liked fighting. That obviously liked her.

“Oh,” Buffy said.


	2. Chapter 2

“Spike?” Buffy asked, the second time that hour.

The terrier barked.

Elation swept through Buffy, and then she mentally kicked herself—barking didn’t automatically mean ‘yes.’ It didn’t automatically mean ‘no’ either. For all she knew, this could be an ordinary dog that just liked to bark. And attack other dogs. Her eyes swept over its twenty-pound frame—over its floppy ears and the black spot that covered its back—as she racked her brain for something more… specific.

“Bark once if Angel’s amazing,” Buffy said. “Twice if he’s super amazing.”

The terrier remained silent.

So far so good.

“Three times if you think he’s stupid with stupid hair.”

The terrier barked three times.

Buffy sighed. Yep, she’d found Spike after all. For all of his vampire weirdness, she supposed it was a good thing that his constant Angel hatred was something she could rely on in a pinch.

She crouched down and waited for him to trot up to her. “Don’t suppose  _you_  know how this whole dog mess happened?”

He blinked at her, answerless.

Buffy scanned him over from head to tail, almost hoping there’d be a spell equivalent of a price tag left on him somewhere, but nope. He looked like a normal, run-of-the-mill terrier.

“Don’t suppose you even know what you look like right now,” Buffy said, wondering if mirrors worked on doggy vampires.

He tilted his head as if in question.

“So you’re not  _exactly_  Toto.” Buffy held her hands out to show him rough measurements. “But you’re pretty darn close.” Her lips tugged into a grin. “I could totally fit you in a picnic basket if I wanted. Or a handbag. A pink one. With sparkles. And tote you all around LA.”

Spike growled. A little growl so adorable that Buffy burst out laughing.

“Sorry, Big Bad,” she said, scratching him behind the ears in apology.

She froze, her fingers buried in his fur.

The dog was Spike.

She was scratching Spike.

Yanking her hand back, she coughed. “So, uh… what now?”

No answer came from the surrounding cemetery. Or Spike. Obviously.

As Buffy watched him, his tail started to wag slightly. She pressed her lips together to keep from commenting on that. Was the motion a conscious or unconscious thing? How much of his head was affected by the dogginess and how much was still Spike?

“So,” Buffy started again. “This spell—assuming it’s even a spell—are you, like, a vampire dog now? Or a normal dog? The other vampires didn’t exactly stick around and let me check.”

She held out her hand in silent question. When Spike didn’t move, she reached under his forelegs. She swallowed as her fingertips met warm fur.

Warm fur and an undeniably beating heart.

“N-normal dog it is.”

Whatever’d happened tonight, it wasn’t your ordinary, every day mischief spell. Someone hadn’t just turned Sunnydale’s vampire population into dogs, they’d given life to the unliving. She needed to tell Giles.

Buffy stood up and headed for the cemetery gates.

Spike yapped behind her.

“Of course you can come too. I’m not gonna leave a dog alone in a cemetery.”

He yapped again.

“What?” Buffy sighed

Spike trotted off in the opposite direction, stopped, then looked pointedly at her.

“You know something about all this after all?” she asked. That couldn’t be right though; Spike wouldn’t have ever held still if he did. She bit her lip, then smirked. “Or are you trying to tell me Timmy’s fallen down the well again?”

Spike huffed and kept going. Apparently the dog version of him had just as much love for her wit as the vampire did. Giving up, Buffy followed him through the cemetery. Her eyes flicked this way and that. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. As they neared Spike’s crypt, he stopped and barked at a dark pile of something.

Buffy knelt down. “Your clothes,” she said, picking up a black shirt with whiffs of smoke and whisky.

Spike nudged the leather beside it.

“Your duster,” she amended.

He barked.

“What about it?”

Spike nudged it again.

Buffy stared blankly at it, trying to figure out what he was…

“Oh, for the love of—!” she groaned. “You want me to take your duster with us for safe keeping?”

Spike barked several times, then turned in a circle, tail wagging.

Buffy held up the duster and fixed him with a glare. “You do know there are actual, important things happening tonight that I’m trying to deal with.”

Spike blinked at her as if his duster was obviously one of those things.

“Ugh! Fine! I’ll take your stupid duster.”

Bundling the duster under her arms, Buffy stood up. She headed once more for the cemetery gates, a pleased terrier now following at her heels.

* * *

“Honey, we’re home!” Buffy called out sarcastically as she threw open the front door.

“We?” Dawn’s head popped out from the kitchen. “Who’s—” Her eyes widened. “Oh my God! You got us a dog?!”

Her little sister was across the hallway with both hands on Spike before Buffy could blink.

“Dawn, stop! You can’t pet him!”

Dawn looked at Buffy like she was crazy. “I can’t pet our dog?”

“He’s not our dog,” Buffy said, wincing at how wrong that sounded even though it was true. “He’s Spike.”

“Excuse me, what?”

Buffy took a deep breath. “All the vampires in town have turned into dogs.” She paused. Counted. “Or at least three did. Don’t  _actually_  know about the others yet.”

Dawn’s face twisted in confusion, then smoothed into the sort of resigned acceptance that only Hellmouth residents possessed. “And this is…”

“Spike.”

Dawn looked from Spike, to Buffy, to Spike again. “Spike,” she repeated.

Spike barked.

Dawn’s face broke into pure joy. “Oh my God, Spike!” Her hands rubbed his sides. “You are sooo cute!” Her teenage gushing earned a half-hearted growl that didn’t slow down her petting in the slightest. “Awww… Can he sleep in my room?”

“W-what?!” Buffy sputtered. “No! Of course not!”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s not a dog! He’s a hundred year old—!” Buffy’s throat caught on the word ‘man.’ She cleared it. “Because you can’t,” she finished lamely. “Now just… keep him there. I need to call Giles.” She kicked her shoes off and headed towards the kitchen.

“Ugh… Buffy’s a mean ol’ spoilsport, isn’t she?” Dawn muttered behind her.

Spike barked his seeming agreement.

Buffy sighed. “Keep insulting the spoilsport and Friday’s pizza night is canceled!” she called out.

Not waiting for the inevitable teenage whine of protest, Buffy grabbed the kitchen phone and punched in Giles’ number. He picked up after the third ring.

“Buffy. I was just about to call you. It seems like more than one vampire has undergone these canine transformations, which makes me think there could be some kind of underlying spell compo—”

“Way ahead of you,” Buffy said before he could roll into full lecture mode. “I’ve got Spike with me right now. Whatever whammied the rest of the town got him too.”

“Spike? You’re saying he’s…”

Buffy sighed. “A terrier.”

There was silence on the other end, followed by a muffled… something.

“Giles?”

“My apologies, just the image… A terrier…” The muffled noise repeated itself. Buffy realized it was Giles stifling his laughter. It took her Watcher a moment to regain control. “What kind of terrier?”

“Uh…” Buffy craned her head towards the kitchen doorway, but the phone cord was too short for her grab another peek. As if another peek would magically fill in her dog breed knowledge gaps. “Not sure. He’s alive though.”

“Excuse me?”

“The spell that transformed him? That transformed all the vampires? It gave him a heart-beat.”

“Dear lord.”

“Pretty much. I don’t have a clue what we’re looking at, but I’m starting to think its more serious than doggy fun times.” Buffy shifted her weight to her other foot. “Got any news on that old buddy of yours?”

“Ethan? Yes… this does appear to be his handiwork. As far as I know, he’s still under military custody, but I’ll make a few calls and try to see if he’s snuck into town. In the meantime, stay safe. We’ll meet first thing in the morning as planned.”

Buffy mentally ran through her schedule for tomorrow. When she’d originally agreed to Giles’ meeting, she’d assumed it’d just be a quick status check-in before heading out to the newest construction site. Hopefully the new developments wouldn’t delay things too badly—she had a record of waking up late and Xander warned her the foreman was only willing to overlook tardiness so many times.

“Sounds good,” Buffy said. “Oh, and don’t stay up too late if you don’t want to. I’ll talk to Willow and Tara once they get home. They’ll probably know something we don’t, seeing how they’re the spell-casting experts these days.”

There was silence.

Buffy tensed. “Giles? You there?”

“Quiet right,” Giles said, as if coming back to himself. “I’m sure they’ll be helpful indeed. Oh, and Buffy? When you come by tomorrow, do remember to bring—” There was another pause, followed by a second round of stifled laughter. “Spike.”

Buffy frowned, something itching at her gut. She didn’t know why. Spike being a terrier  _was_  funny. She’d teased the vampire about it herself. It made sense—was normal—that Giles would tease him too.

“Will do,” she said, shoving the weird feeling away.

She hung up the phone and then took a deep breath, recomposing herself. A month from now, they’d all probably be seated around the Magic Box, sharing a pizza and laughing at the memory of tonight. No sense in causing waves.

“Hey, Dawn,” Buffy said, leaving the kitchen. “Spike and I are going to the Magic Box tomorrow to figure out what’s wrong. Do you want—?”

Buffy froze.

Spike and Dawn were sprawled out together on the living room carpet: Spike on his back, tail wagging, while Dawn aggressively rubbed his belly with both hands.

“Dawn! What are you—?! That’s—! Stop! That’s  _Spike_!”

“I know,” Dawn said, grinning. Her hands moved up, scratching a spot right under his neck.

“It’s inappropriate!” Buffy snapped. She lunged forward and yanked Spike away, trapping him in her arms over his protesting barks.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “He’s a dog right now. Let him be a dog.”

Buffy opened her mouth, then let it hang there; she had absolutely no idea where to begin with that particular twisted line of little sister logic. Spike continued to yap and squirm in her grasp.

There was a sudden click as the front door opened.

“We’re home!” Willow said.


	3. Chapter 3

Oh thank god.

“We’re in here!” Buffy called out, keeping a firm hold on Spike’s wriggling form.

Willow and Tara stopped at the edge of the living room. “We have a dog now?” Willow asked.

Dawn’s grin resurfaced. “It’s Spike!”

Willow’s gaze darted from her to Spike, who stilled. “That’s… uh, a nice name, Dawnie,” Willow said carefully. “But are you sure that’s a ‘Spike’ kind of a dog? He gets a little touchy when you make fun—”

“That  _is_  Spike,” Tara said.

“Huh?” Willow said, turning to her girlfriend.

“His aura. It’s…” Tara made a vertical wavelike shape with her hands.

Buffy turned Spike to face her and squinted, trying to sense whatever mystical energy Tara obviously could see. Spike took advantage of the looser grip and squirmed free.

“Careful!” Dawn shouted as he dropped to the floor. “Don’t hurt him!”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Buffy groaned. “He’s…”

Buffy trailed off as Spike jumped into Dawn’s lap and glanced around the room with solid black eyes. Not blue.

The realization struck, sharp and cold—Spike was a  _dog_  now. A normal, living dog. If he fell too far, he might break a leg. If a bigger dog chomped into his side, he wouldn’t magically heal up.

He might not heal at all.

“That’s Spike?” Willow asked tensely, jolting Buffy from her thoughts. “How is that Spike?”

Buffy sighed. “Not a clue. Unfortunately, it looks like we’ve got a plague of doggy vampires. A curse or spell or something.” She looked at Tara. “Please tell me your aura-reading thing can figure out specifically what?”

“Unfortunately, no…” Tara looked genuinely remorseful, then knelt down. “Can I?”

“Oh sure,” Dawn said. She started to pass Spike over.

Tara frowned. “I wasn’t asking you.” Ignoring Dawn’s blinks of confusion, Tara turned her attention to Spike. Or rather, kept it there. She gently held Spike’s gaze until he jumped out of Dawn’s arms and voluntarily trotted up to her. Permission given, she began to silently examine him, running her fingers softly over his fur. When she reached his underbelly, she flinched.

“H-he’s…”

Buffy’s stomach twisted. “Alive? Yeah. Giles and I both agreed that whatever mojo this is, it’s definitely of the serious.”

Tara clutched her hands to herself. “I’ve never…” She swallowed. “This is extremely d-dark magic. A spell like this ch-challenges natural law, changing the very essence of a living creature.”

“Spike’s not living,” Buffy said automatically.

Dawn rolled her eyes.

“I- I guess those weren’t the  _exact_  right words,” Tara apologized, “but…”

Buffy sighed. “It’s fine. I know what you meant.”

Despite her desire to comfort Tara, Buffy couldn’t keep all the irritation from her voice. Some super-powered, evil magician was running amok in Sunnydale and—naturally—it was now her problem to deal with. Add that to the list of the other thousand.

Buffy glanced at Willow to ask her opinion, but her friend was staring intently at Spike, her face pale and fingers latched tightly in front of her, as if fighting the urge to twitch.

“Willow?” Buffy asked.

Willow squeaked and looked up. “What?”

“Do you know anything about this?”

“Nope! I mean, nothing that’d turn Spike or other vampires into— And nothing that’d make the undead not undead!” She paused. Bit her lip. “Though… just out of curiosity, when  _did_  Spike go…?” She mimed a big object turning small.

Buffy shrugged, thinking back. “An hour ago?”

Willow sighed in obvious relief. “Then definitely nope,” she said. “Nothing at all.”

Dawn narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

Willow turned, looking guilty. “What? I just said nothing!”

They all stared at her.

“Ugh, fine!” Willow threw her hands up. “I did one spell today! But just one. And it didn’t do this!” she said, waving at Spike.

“How do you know it didn’t?” Dawn asked.

“Because I only turned a single Bledfa demon into a dog. One living demon into one living dog. It wasn’t dark magic at all.  _And_ ”—Willow lifted a finger, obviously seizing on this next point—“I did it hours and hours ago, so obviously this  _has_  to be something different!”

“What spell did you use?” Tara asked, her voice calm but tight.

“Tara, baby, I just said this wasn’t me!”

“What spell?”

Willow mumbled something.

“Bathory’s transmogrification?!” Horror etched itself into Tara’s face. “The risks involved with transmogrification are—”

“I knew the risks! And I made alterations to keep it perfectly safe! And— And I was only doing it to help Buffy!”

“Me?” Buffy said, blinking.

“Yes! You’ve been so busy lately and keep saying you never have time for anything—I figured if I could turn the demons here into something non-threatening, you could stop worrying about patrols so much!”

“Non-threatening,” Buffy repeated.

“And if you think about it,” Willow continued, oblivious to everything, “this is better than traditional Slayer stabbing methods, because you won’t have to go after things one-by-one anymore  _and_  nothing gets killed!”

“Willow, the vampire dogs I met tonight are still threats! They attacked me! They’re probably out there right now, attacking other people!”

Willow shifted. “I said I didn’t do that,” she said defensively. “I only changed one Bledfa demon.”

“Willow,” Tara said, drawing her girlfriend’s attention. “What alterations did you make? Specifically?”

The air in the room grew thick. Willow glanced away, tapping her foot. “I removed the targeting part of the incantation that ties the subject’s life force to the caster’s,” she admitted reluctantly. “But—” She looked back, a slightly manic gleam in her eyes. “I replaced it with an agrimony-based spell circle from Mallaig’s Compendium that re-centers the focus onto the subject’s essence!”

Willow finished her explanation with a triumphant grin, clearly expecting compliments on her genius.

It faded when none came.

“The altered targeting might not have been specific enough. It probably leaked out to creatures with similar essences,” Tara finally said. At Dawn and Buffy’s blank looks, she added: “Demons. I think Willow’s spell affected every demon in Sunnydale.”

“Okay, fine,” Willow bit out, hugging her arms to herself. “Maybe it did…morph a bit, but I still don’t see how this is a bad thing!”

“Spike’s a dog!” Dawn shouted, grabbing and holding him up for emphasis. “Of course it’s a bad thing!”

“Then I’ll fix him and leave the others,” she said. When neither Dawn or Tara looked satisfied with her proposed solution, she turned her attention to Buffy, her eyes wide and watery. “Come on, Buffy. Are you even a little bit happy? This makes your slaying easier.”

Buffy bit her lip. Her best friend looked so proud,  _was_  so proud, and yet… “It makes it harder actually,” Buffy confessed. “Have you ever tried fighting a dog?”

“You don’t  _have_  to fight them though! That’s the whole point, they’re dogs and—!” Her breath hitched, and her whole face darkened. “Why can’t you just be grateful for once?!” Willow snapped.

She ran upstairs. A door slammed, echoing through the house.

“I’ll talk to her,” Tara said, her face pale but otherwise perfectly calm. And then she disappeared as well.

The wall clock ticked through the silence.

Spike growled.

Buffy sighed. “It’s not Willow’s fault, okay?” she automatically said, despite her own growing doubts. “Besides, she’ll put things back the way they were.” Eventually.

“I think that was his stomach,” Dawn said, peering at Spike with new curiosity.

“Oh. Well, I think we still have some blood from—” Buffy paused. As she met Spike’s eyes, his tail started a slow wag. Right. Living dog. Different rules. She looked at Dawn. “What do dogs eat?” she asked. “Besides dog food, obviously.”

Dawn shrugged, then lifted a finger. “To the internet!” She sprang up, a woman on a mission.

Buffy gave another sigh, then gestured for Spike to follow her into the kitchen. Pulling open the pantry, she combed through its meager offerings: canned corn, canned green beans, canned regular beans… Just great. Her house had become some sort of nuclear fallout shelter without her realizing.

She looked back at Spike sitting on the floor, judging her with his little dog eyes.

Well, since Buffy had no idea what was and wasn’t poisonous to a dog yet, she might as well take care of the universal basics. As Dawn booted up the laptop in the dining room, Buffy filled a porcelain bowl with water and placed it on the floor with a small clink.

Spike stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Buffy.

“You’re back in the land of the living,” she told him. “That means both food  _and_  water.”

“Ooh!” Dawn squealed. “It says dogs like peanut butter and apples!”

Buffy rolled her eyes. Trust Dawn to gravitate to the snack foods. “Dogs  _like_  to eat them,” she said, crossing her arms, “but  _should_  they eat them?”

“Yeah, it says they’ve got lots of protein and fiber and vitamins A and C.”

Wait. Really? That didn’t sound right. Buffy trudged over to the other room. Ignoring Dawn’s mutterings about lack of trust, she peered at the list of supposedly healthy dog foods… which included pasta and green beans. Huh. Well, that was cheap and easy enough and could serve as dinner for both of them.

As Buffy returned to the kitchen, there was a soft clatter. Spike stood a full body-length away from his water bowl, which was wobbling slightly. Small splashes of water covered the tiles around it.

Buffy frowned. Was Spike…  _scared_  of the water?

She crouched down to his level. “You know it’s just water, right?” she told him. “Not blessed or anything.” She paused, thinking. “Though I’m pretty sure even holy water’s a non-threat to you right now.”

Despite her assurances, Spike remained immobile.

Buffy sighed, giving up. “Figures you’d be a weird dog, since you’re such a weird vampire.” She smiled, ruffling the fur on his head.

Then froze.

Buffy coughed, her hand buried deep in brown curls, and then rose to her feet. Spike was still a vampire. She needed to remember he was still a vampire. After wiping her hand on the side of her jeans, she grabbed a big pot and put it on the stove to boil. She leaned against the counter, waiting.

Spike still wasn’t touching his water bowl, preferring instead to stare at Buffy.

Buffy frowned. She supposed it’d be a  _bit_  weird, as she went to grab the pasta, drinking something besides blood for the first time in a hundred years, so maybe it made sense he’d be a bit hesi—

Buffy paused with one hand on the pantry door.

—except Spike drank and ate human food all the time.

Weird.

“I think he’s a Welsh Terrier!” Dawn called out.

Buffy popped her head between rooms. “What?”

“See?” Dawn swiveled the laptop screen to face her. It was covered in pictures of various terriers. Dawn’s brow furrowed. “Or a Lakeland Terrier? They look kind of the same…”

Behind Buffy came small sounds of lapping water. She turned in time to see Spike jump back. He perched stiffly on the floor, his head turning casually at various fixtures in the kitchen.

Weird, weird vampire.

Leaving Dawn to her investigations—and Spike to his whatever, Buffy returned to the stove and finished dinner. She grabbed a fork and two bowls, filled them both, and then placed one next to the still barely touched water bowl.

Spike didn’t move.

“Dawn?” Buffy called out, absentmindedly twirling her fork. “Does your website say anything about dogs that don’t want to eat?”

“Huh?”

Dawn entered the kitchen. “Spike, what’s wrong?” She crouched down to his level and cocked her head as if that’d increase her investigative powers.

“Maybe he’s not a full dog after all?” Buffy ventured.

“Maybe…”

“He keeps starting to drink whenever I leave the room, and then he stops.”

Dawn pursed her lips, clearly thinking, and then: “Oh!” Her eyes widened, then softened. “Oh, Spike… you don’t have to be embarrassed about that.”

“Embarrassed about what?”

But expert dog-psychologist Dawn was already at the stove. She shoveled the leftovers onto a plate, and then put her mouth against it and started scarfing the food down.

Buffy stared at her sister, suddenly terrified Willow’s spell had affected her sister’s sanity along with the vampires. “What the heck are you doing?”

Dawn lifted her face, chin shining with overcooked pasta slime. She was lucky Buffy hadn’t pre-mixed the sauce. “It’s called solidarity,  _duh_.” When Buffy blinked, confused, Dawn let out a noise of exasperation. “Spike doesn’t want to eat in front of you all doggy-style,” she said. “Probably because he thinks you’d laugh at him, which you totally would.” She turned to Spike. “You’ve gotta get over that, by the way. Buffy is pretty much now and forever the laughing demon from hell. Trust me. Fifteen years of suffering and torment experience here.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Since you can’t do it yourself anymore, if she does laugh, I can always punch her for you.”

“Hey!” Buffy said, earning a small doggy snort from Spike.

Dawn grinned.

Then, with a slowness that was almost painful, Spike lowered his snout into the bowl and began to eat.

Buffy watched him. Now that Dawn had brought it up, she couldn’t help but picture human— well,  _humanoid_  Spike in his place, naked and on all fours, forced to eat with nothing but his mouth… and rather than inspiring giggles, it made her stomach clench. It seemed like the kind of degrading torture Angelus or Drusilla would think up for him, not another day of wacky Sunnydale shenanigans.

She averted her eyes, focusing her attention on her fork instead. She could put it back, do the solidarity thing with Dawn… but the solidarity thing was silly. Made  _her_  feel silly.

And it wasn’t like it was going to help turn Spike back to normal.

Keeping a tight grip on her fork, Buffy left the kitchen and started eating by herself next to Dawn’s laptop. She clicked through the various tabs her sister had left open. Reading up on important dog info—that was more productive than the feel-good ridiculousness Dawn wanted to do.

As she skimmed through the websites, Dawn’s voice continued to float out of the other room. Buffy couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation. Well… one-sided conversation. Could it be a conversation if only one person was doing any talking? Did it become a monologue at that point?

“—and you can stay in my room!” Dawn piped cheerfully.

Buffy sighed. She stared at the ceiling, calling on the Powers for strength, then pushed herself up from the table and re-entered the kitchen. Spike and Dawn were sitting on the floor together, dishes empty.

“Dawn, I already told you. Spike’s staying downstairs,” Buffy said.

“What? That’s not fair!”

“I’m letting him stay in our house. That’s fair enough.”

Declaration made, Buffy started tossing the dirty dishes into the washer.

Then paused.

Dawn was going to ignore her. Because Dawn always ignored her. She’d sneak Spike upstairs when Buffy wasn’t looking and then, knowing the way the universe worked, Willow’s spell would break in the middle of the night, and suddenly there’d be a naked vampire in her little sister’s bed, and not any naked vampire, naked Spike—

Buffy shivered and quickly pushed that image out of her head.

Dog Spike. Focus on the dog.

“Actually,” Buffy said, shutting the dishwasher with a small click.  _Dawn_ , she repeated.  _This is about protecting Dawn’s innocence_. “He’ll stay with me.”

Dawn and Spike stared at her.

“But you just said—” Dawn started.

“I know what I just said.”

“But—”

“If we leave Spike alone, he’ll probably chew through our throw pillows or something,” Buffy lied. “Because he’s evil.”

“So you have to watch him.”

“Exactly,” Buffy said, seizing on her sister’s understanding.

Dawn stared at her, her eyes narrowing… and then shrugged. “Whatever.” Dawn scratched Spike behind the ears. “See you tomorrow.”

Spike returned her affections with a friendly bark.

Buffy shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t fair, the way Dawn could just  _adapt_  to situations. Was that due to some residual key-ness? Or was Buffy the one who’d been made wrong?

“Come on,” Buffy said. She took the stairs, conscious of Spike jumping after her step-by-step.

They stopped at her bedroom door.

Buffy looked down at Spike. He looked back, his small terrier face the picture of innocence. “You know I wouldn’t be letting you in under  _any_  other circumstances.”

His tail wagged.

Buffy sighed. She pushed opened the door, and he trotted in ahead of her. He paused in the center of her room as Buffy flicked on the light switch, taking in his new surroundings, and then started patrolling, sniffing at the various clothes Buffy had left strewn across the floor.

“Hey!” Buffy shouted. “Stop that!” She snatched a green blouse away from his nose. “No sniffing! No… nothing!”

Spike let out a little doggy huff, then settled himself on the floor, head resting on his front paws. Buffy did her best to ignore him as she quickly threw everything into a hamper. Grabbing a pair of sushi pajamas, she fled to the bathroom.

No, not fled. Something… well, not fleeing.

Because she did not  _flee_  from Spike.

Buffy smashed her pajamas into her face and let out a low groan. After that, she took a calming breath and then glanced sideways through the wall to where Willow was probably sleeping a blissful sleep with Tara curled protectively around her. It wasn’t fair. Willow was the only one who hadn’t realized yet that her magic tended to cause more trouble than it fixed. And then she always got so defensive about it, like it was  _Buffy’s_  fault that she casted her spells in the first place…

Which Buffy guessed was kind of true. If she’d never come to Sunnydale… if she’d never gotten her friends involved in the world of vampires and magic…

She shoved those thoughts away before they could start spiraling again. Bedtime routine. That’s what she was here for. She quickly changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth and wiped her makeup off and did all the other things that she did half-consciously these days.

As she turned off the faucet, her reflection stared at her. It poked at the dark circle beneath her left eye. Back at the start of high school, her mom had warned her about bags and early aging. Had given her all the various lotions and creams to combat them. Buffy still followed her advice religiously, but even the mystical powers of Neutrogena and Aveda combined didn’t seem to make a dent against the stress of slaying these days. She rubbed the creams in anyway before finally heading back to her room. She locked the door so Dawn wouldn’t be able to sneak in and “liberate” Spike, then turned around.

And sighed.

“No,” she said, picking Spike up from where he’d made a little home in her sheets. He hung limply as she deposited him gently on the floor.

After turning off the lights, Buffy slipped beneath her covers. She shifted in the near blackness, trying to get comfy. She couldn’t. Spike was in the room— _Spike_ —and he prickled… not quite against her skin like when he was a vampire, but against her consciousness itself.

She rolled over and looked down off the bed.

He was a dark outline on her floor.

“If I so much as feel a  _dip_  of weight on the bed, you’re dust. Understand?”

Silence.

Buffy sighed. “Bark once for yes.”

Spike barked softly.

“Good,” Buffy said. She rolled back over, facing the ceiling.  _‘Goodnight, Spike’_  hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it back down at the last second. It felt weird even thinking of saying it, and it wasn’t like he’d be able to respond. It’d give him ideas about… something, and ideas were of the bad because this whole situation was temporary, and between Willow and Giles it’d get sorted out tomorrow morning, and everything would go back to normal.

And normal was good.

Buffy closed her eyes and willed herself into unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

Her alarm went off, not loud and blaring but soft and whining, followed by a cold wetness poking her in the cheek—

Buffy jolted awake. She grabbed the stake wedged between her mattress and headboard.

The room was dark. No vampire threat. As Buffy’s vision slowly swam back into focus, she looked down. A small terrier was by her knee, looking up at her. Her brows scrunched in confusion. They didn’t own a…

The events of the previous night rushed back.

Spike.

Buffy glared at him. “I thought I told you no mattress.”

Spike huffed, then hopped off the bed and pawed at the hallway door.

Buffy stared at her alarm clock; an obnoxiously red  _5:13am_  stared back at her. “It’s 5am,” she groaned, rolling her face into her pillow. “Go back to sleep like a good vampire dog.”

Spike whined low and long, punctuated at the end with a sharp yap.

“I said, nooo. Sleep…”

Spike yapped again.

Buffy lifted her stake without lifting her head. “If you don’t be quiet,” she muttered, “so help me, I’ll—”

A third yap.

Buffy sat up and fixed him with a death glare that carried the thousand-year weight of the full Slayer line, daring him to bark just… once… more.

Instead of shrinking into submission, Spike just pawed at the door again.

“Ughhh,” Buffy moaned. Sure, Spike had been turned into a dog but he didn’t have to pretend he was a  _real_ one, complete with sudden, irrational needs to go outside. “What is so important you’d have to…?”

Oh, right.

Spike  _was_  a real dog now. Or at least a real dog in terms of physical biology… which apparently included certain physical—and unavoidable—biological functions.

Buffy blushed. Clambering out of bed, she opened the door and silently escorted him downstairs to the kitchen. At the back door, she paused. She didn’t want to ask or confirm her suspicions if she didn’t have to, but…

“If you have to… you know…” Buffy glanced at the ceiling. She couldn’t believe she was having to discuss  _this_ with Spike. “Do it somewhere I won’t notice. You’re picking everything up after you turn back human—” She paused. “Vampire. Whatever. You know what I mean.”

Spike didn’t yap or bark his understanding, but Buffy refused to go into more detail than that so she’d just have to pray he’d gotten it through his thick skull.

With a resigned sigh, Buffy pulled the back door open. Spike didn’t wait for her to flick on the porch light. As he trotted out into the pre-dawn grass, still thick with dew, Buffy quickly turned away so she didn’t have to see… so she didn’t have to anything.

A yawn escaped her as she waited, and she checked the clock again—5:19am.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Willow and Tara left for the Magic Box while Dawn was still putzing around, making sure Spike had a proper breakfast.

“Come on,” Buffy pressed. “He doesn’t need to eat the whole thing.” She had less than an hour before she was due at Xander’s construction site, fully punched in and ready to work.

“But Giles probably doesn’t have the right kinds of doggy food,” Dawn moaned.

“Newsflash, Dawn: neither do we.” She frowned at Spike as he chomped away at the peanut butter and oatmeal mixture Dawn had insisted on scraping together, seemingly more chill with the whole ‘bowl’ thing than he’d been last night. “His stomach’s probably good. Come on.”

“But…”

“Dawn,  _please,”_ Buffy said, her voice nearly breaking. She didn’t want to beg, but Dawn didn’t seem to get that she had a job now and little things, like showing up on time, were important.

Spike looked up, meeting Buffy’s eyes. He glanced back at his bowl for a second, then trotted over to Buffy.

“Wait, Spike!” Dawn said. “You haven’t finished!”

“According to him, he has,” Buffy said, thankful for small mercies. “So let’s get going.”

Dawn looked ready to pull Spike back and force his snout into the half-finished bowl, but eventually sighed. “Fine…”

After one last hiccup involving Dawn’s missing shoe, Buffy finally got them out the door and heading off towards the Magic Box.

“Wait!” Dawn shouted.

 _Oh, for the love of—_  “What now?” Buffy groaned.

“Spike. He’s not with us.”

Buffy stopped and looked around—she’d just assumed he’d follow at her heels like he’d been doing so far. Not having vampire tinglies to keep track of him was super annoying. She finally spotted him across the yard, still standing on the front porch. He stared silently at the steps before him.

Buffy sighed.

“Spike!” she said, pointing at her feet. “Come!”

Dawn elbowed her. “Don’t do that!” she hissed. “He’s not a dog.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Oh, really? I thought you were all about that last night.”

“Yeah, well…” Dawn shifted. “He’s not  _that_  kind of dog.”

Buffy started to respond, then thought better of it—her sister’s head had never made sense, and she was silly to expect it to now. Leaving Dawn logic to Dawn, Buffy instead studied Spike as he hovered on the porch. Hovered right at the line between sunlight and shade.

Ah.

“Come on! Don’t worry about the sun!” Buffy called out. “It’s not going to hurt you!”

“What? You don’t know that,” Dawn said.

“Sure I do,” Buffy lied. Well. Half-lied. Spike was a living, breathing dog now, so it only made sense he’d be okay. He shouldn’t have been that scared about it either. The Gem of Amara must’ve required the same sun experimentation, and he’d apparently found the courage to test it back then, so Buffy waited for that same courage to inevitably kick in now.

And waited.

She crossed her arms, mouth thinning as Spike remained stiff and unmoving on the porch. If she had to walk over and carry him…

Finally, Spike lifted a paw. It quivered in the air for a moment before quickly dipping in and out of the sunlight.

Nothing happened.

He stuck out his paw again and held it there—

And then bounded down the stairs into the morning sun. Sprinting over the grass, he ran tight circles around Buffy and Dawn, yapping excitedly. Dawn giggled and crouched down, trying to pet him, but he was too excited and didn’t stay still long enough.

“Yeah, yeah, soak it up,” Buffy said, trying to keep a smile from creeping up her own face. With a couple strategically placed nudges, she managed to get the other two back moving.

After a few blocks, they made the turn onto Maple Court. It was closer to the town center here, with cars whizzing by twice a minute. Buffy’s eyes kept straying to Spike—if he ran off into the road he’d be hit for sure.

But it was Spike. He was still mentally a vampire and knew the street was dangerous.

Of course, it was getting harder and harder to remember that as he trotted happily, seemingly oblivious, alongside the two of them, his fur all caramel and shiny in the sunlight.

“You think dogs freckle?” Buffy asked, suddenly transported to another bright morning from long ago. Dawn and Spike both looked at her. “You know. Beneath the fur?”

Dawn continued staring for a moment, then rolled her eyes.

“What?” Buffy asked.

“Nothing,” Dawn said, turning her attention back ahead. “My sister is so weird,” she muttered.

Buffy made a noise of protest. “Well,  _excuse me_ , Miss Pot Calling the Kettle.”

“Hey! At least I have an excuse.” She gestured to herself. “I’m a weird manifested key and all. Pretty much doomed from the get-go. Also, in case you forgot, I was made from  _you_ , so—”

“Excuse me, Ma’am,” a male voice said. “Ma’ams.”

Buffy and Dawn turned. A white van had pulled up beside them, its window rolled down to expose the driver. From the back half came a muffled cacophony of deep woofs and high piercing yaps.

“Is that your dog?” the driver asked.

Buffy followed his gaze to Spike, who’d pressed himself close against their legs.

“Oh,” Buffy said automatically, “he’s not—”

Dawn elbowed her silent. “Yes! Yes, he’s our dog.” Pressing her fingers against Buffy’s arm, Dawn subtly jerked her head at the logo along the van’s side—Sunnydale Animal Control.

Oh, shit.

Buffy quickly looked back at the driver and nodded vigorously. He leaned through the rolled-down window frame, peering at them both suspiciously. Buffy held her breath.

“Then get a collar on him,” he finally muttered. “We’ve been hit with a sudden influx of strays and got our work cut out for us as it is. You  _do_  know it’s against city code for a dog to be out un-collared and unleashed, right?”

“Uhh…” Buffy said, not sure what the better answer was.

The driver sighed. “I’ll let you off with a warning for now, but it’ll be a $100 fine if I catch you again.”

“Thanks and will do,” Dawn quickly said. She whipped her hand up into a salute. “Mister, sir.”

The driver stared at them both, then shook his head and drove off, carrying the endless dog barking with him. Buffy, Dawn, and Spike watched him go.

“So now what?” Dawn asked once the van had turned the corner. “Magic Box? Or pet store?”

Buffy considered the two options—an extra stop would make her morning schedule even tighter than it already was… but they didn’t have the money to risk a fine. “I think there’s a pet store near the Espresso Pump that we can swing by super quick,” she said slowly. “Collar and leash… A couple scraps of leather can’t be that expensive, right?”

Spike growled.

Buffy rolled her eyes. She was getting half a mind to leave Spike, stomp off to work, and just leave Dawn to deal with the crisis since she was the one so obviously enjoying it. “Hey, I’m not doing this because I want to,” she told Spike. “Do you  _want_  the bad man to come back and take you away with all the other dogs?”

“All the other  _demon_  dogs…” Dawn said, a far off look in her eyes.

The echo of the barking dogs suddenly rushed back. Buffy pictured cage after cage of them, piling up at the city pound Ghostbusters style… until the spell broke. Fur and wagging tails retracted as thin steel broke beneath pent-up, demonic strength. There’d be a horde of them, unleashed in one, single place.

An angry horde.

“Go find Willow,” Buffy said, her voice staying calm despite the sudden cold pit in her stomach. “Tell her not to undo the spell until we talk strategy. I’ll deal with Spike.”

Dawn nodded and took off. Spike sprang to follow.

“Hold up, mister,” Buffy said, scooping him up. “What part of ‘ _I’ll_  deal with you’ did you not understand?”

Spike started squirming in way that said, all of it, probably.

Buffy sighed. “I know you’d rather be with Dawn the Baby-er,” she admitted. “But you’ve got two choices: stay with me and comply with city code, or wander the streets until that van picks you up and tosses you in a cage for the rest of this spell.”

Spike growled again but stopped squirming.

“Thank you.”

The pet store was only a couple blocks out of the way and ended up having a ridiculous selection of collars, probably for the kind of people who ranked the importance dog fashion right up alongside the Met Gala. Buffy briefly toyed with the idea of grabbing Spike a flashy pink collar or one with actual spikes, before eventually deciding to grant him the small mercy of plain black. The food aisle presented more possibilities, but Spike seemed to be okay with human food so far, and if he was okay with it, then Buffy was more than okay with saving a buck. Same went for toys. Not that she could imagine Spike voluntarily playing with any of them in the first place.

Sticking to the city-required bare essentials, she made her way to checkout.

The young cashier looked at Spike still tucked under her arm. “That dog have registration?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“People keep coming in today with stray dogs they’ve picked off the streets. Lots of them seem feral though. Rabies, I think.”

“Uh, no. Spike here’s a family dog! Always has been!” Buffy nearly winced at her overly bright tone. She wished she could lie as easily as her sister. “And really well behaved. See?”

For once, Spike acted the good boy and put on his best innocent puppy look. Buffy smiled. The cashier looked at both of them—like the van driver, clear doubt was etched across his face—and then sighed in apathetic, minimum wage-induced defeat.

“Whatever…” he said, ringing up the leash and collar.

Buffy left the store and ducked into the nearest alleyway. Keeping one arm around Spike, she awkwardly fished the collar out of its bag. Spike began to wriggle again.

“Oh, come  _on_ ,” Buffy muttered, trapping him in a headlock. “I already told you why I’m doing this, and it’s for your own…”—Spike’s eyes squinted shut as she forced the collar around his neck—“…good!”

Buffy smiled, reveling in her first success of the day. The second she loosened her grip, Spike started scratching at the thin leather strip with his back leg. Teases automatically sprang to her lips, then died as she realized what she’d just done.

A collar. She’d just collared Spike.

She remembered last night, him eating on all fours on the ground. Embarrassed. Humiliated.

Her smile faded.

Still… this wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t Willow, who’d gotten him into this situation. And she wasn’t Angelus, who’d intentionally humiliated him as part of some weird vampire dominance thing. The collar was for his own good. Plus, Spike had given her his… well, admittedly reluctant and possibly withdrawn consent. But it was still consent. On top of that, even if she  _wanted_  to take the collar back off—which she didn’t—that’d only put her back at step one: hiding from city pest control, a bank-breaking fine just one van’s length around the corner.

Buffy coughed.

“Okay,” she said, determinedly pushing through the uneasy stirrings in her gut. “Leash next.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Aww, what a cutey pie!”

“Wait,” Buffy started as the middle-aged woman reached down to pet Spike without asking. “I’m not sure—”

Spike snapped at her hand.

The woman shrieked, recoiling. “He bit me!”

The other main street pedestrians turned to stare.

“I’m sorry!” Buffy quickly said, tightening her grip on Spike’s leash. She was  _not_  letting Spike get taken away right after she’d spent money on him. “He didn’t mean to. He’s… He just doesn’t like strangers.”

“He bites people often?” the woman said, eyes narrowing.

Buffy winced. “No, that’s not what I…”

“You should muzzle that dog if you can’t control him. What if he has rabies?”

“He doesn’t—” Buffy swallowed. The woman looked like the kind of person who showed up to PTA meetings just to vote every proposal down. If Buffy fought, she’d just rile her up further. “Of course. Thank you for that suggestion, ma’am.”

The woman rigidly stared at them, clearly deciding whether or not to escalate the situation. Then she sniffed, tugged her purse farther up onto her shoulder, and strode haughtily into the grocery store.

Buffy breathed out a sigh of relief, then dropped into a crouch. “What was that about?” she hissed to Spike. He was staring in the direction of the store’s entrance, not looking contrite in the slightest. Buffy grabbed his chin and forced him to face her. “No biting! They take dogs away for that sort of thing!”

Buffy wasn’t sure what a dog apology exactly looked like, but the dismissive way Spike watched a passing bicyclist wasn’t it.

Whatever. Buffy’s morning work shift was ticking closer and closer, and she didn’t have time to play doggy counselor. Standing back up, she tugged on the leash.

Spike didn’t move.

“Spike…” Buffy warned.

She tugged again. Spike remained a brown-shaped blob on the pavement.

“Really?” she demanded.

When he still refused to budge, Buffy gave up and used her Slayer strength to pull him along. His collar cut into his neck as his paws dragged against the pavement.

They made it one block before the comments started.

“Excuse me, ma’am. You shouldn’t pull on your dog like that.”

“Miss? If your dog has a habit of dragging, you might consider a full shoulder harness. Otherwise you might cause serious damage to—”

“Mommy! Mommy! That mean lady’s choking the doggy!”

It was with a burst of watery relief when Buffy finally reached the Magic Box. She dragged Spike inside and slammed the door behind them, finally out of view of judgment.

Giles looked up from the center table where he, Dawn, Willow, and Tara were researching with a tower of books between them. “Oh Buffy,” he said. “You finally made it. You and…” His gaze dropped to Spike, and he turned away as his eyes squeezed shut in muffled laughter.

“Yeah,” Buffy muttered, reaching down to unclip Spike from the leash. “No thanks to— Hey!”

Spike bolted to the side and hid himself beneath a shelf of jarred herbs.

“Aww… Spike doesn’t like his new collar?” Xander said, leaning against the checkout counter. He made a sad tut-tutting noise and turned to Anya who was beside him, flipping through a bridal catalog. “And he looked like such a good boy too.”

Buffy swallowed. Her snipping at Spike was one thing—he’d been giving her hell since the pet shop—but Xander…

“Why are you making fun of Spike for having a collar?” Anya asked abruptly, not looking up from her catalog. “You like it when I put them on you.”

“Ahn!” Xander yelped, turning bright red. He slapped a hand over his fiancé’s mouth and started whispering a frantic mix of pleas and lecturing as he ventured embarrassed glances at the others.

Buffy rolled her eyes. She’d long passed the point of being shocked by their bedroom antics. The biggest shock left now was that Xander still apparently was. Ignoring her sex-embarrassed friend, she followed Spike to the shelf he’d hidden himself under.

“Hey, you alright?” she asked, crouching down.

Spike retreated further until she had to crane her neck to see him. A faint growl echoed against the wood.

“Sorry, probably stupid question.” Buffy paused, sighing. She ran a fingernail along the shelf’s edge. “Look. Just… ignore Xander. He makes stupid jokes. It’s what he does.”

Spike stayed where he was.

Buffy turned around. “Dawn? A little help?”

Dawn glanced up from her thick book, then sighed. She pushed herself up from the table and approached them. “You go and talk strategy with the others,” she said. “I’ll stay with him.”

Buffy frowned. “I called you over to get him out,” she whispered, “not keep him company while he hides.”

“Well… if he wants to hide, maybe we should let him hide,” Dawn whispered back with a nonchalant shrug.

Buffy stared at her. Her sister had said it like a flippant teenager, but…

“Whatever. Fine.” Leaving Spike in Dawn’s care, Buffy went and stood over the table that was Research Central, arms crossing snuggly as she surveyed the tower of curse and curse-reversal books piled on top. “Alright, what’ve you guys got? We’ve got…” She checked the wall clock. “Fifteen minutes until Xander and I have to head out.” She looked at Xander who nodded, obviously proud of her punctuality-focused mindset.

Giles tore his eyes from Spike and Dawn. “What we’ve  _established_ ,” he said, taking his glasses off, “is that Willow has meddled in magic far beyond her control.”

“What?” Willow said, sitting up straight. “I had it under control! Have it! Present tense. And if you’d just let me—”

“No. No more spells.” Giles paused. Squeezed his eyes shut. “Besides the necessary reversal one, of course.”

Willow sunk back into her seat, sulking. “Don’t see why we have to reverse it. No demons is a good thing.”

“I agree with Willow on this one,” Xander called out.

“No demons?” Buffy said. “So you guys confirmed it’s more than just vampires who’ve gone all… well, woof woof?”

“Yes,” Anya said. She’d taken a step away from Xander, tension in her shoulders. “Willow’s curse affected half the town. It’s clearly not selective. What if it’d sensed my demonic background?” Her lip trembled as her voice started rising in pitch. “I’m still getting used to being a human! I can’t become a dog!”

“But you’re not a demon anymore, Ahn, so it’s fine,” Xander said, pressing a kiss against her hair.

Anya didn’t look comforted.

“Th-there are still  _some_  demons in town,” Tara said with a quick glance at Willow. “But according to Mr. Giles and the- um, anatomical differences he described, we think they’re all female.”

“Huh,” Buffy said. “You mean female demons have some kind of curse immunity? Way to go, girl power?” She gave a half-hearted fist raise.

“Perhaps…” Giles said, slowly closing the book in front of him. “Though if I had to guess, I’d say it’s more likely that Willow’s initial test subject was male and, when her spell began to bleed out to similar essences, it did so at a chromosomal level. Perhaps, Willow, if you share everything you remember about the demon from the initial ritual, we’ll be able to devise a stronger base for the reversal spell.”

Willow looked away, her lips pressing into a thin line, until Tara gently placed a hand on her arm. She reluctantly met her partner’s eyes and then sighed. “Fine. Like I’ve already said, it was a Bledfa demon. Evil but not too powerful.  _And_  like I said, I knew what I was doing and evaluated the risks and—”

Buffy’s attention glazed over as Willow dissolved into a half technical, half excuse-filled ramble. Minutes ticked by. She twitched,  _trying_  to pay attention, but mostly she just wished her redheaded friend would get on with it, or at least realize that Buffy had places to be. Important, money-paying places. And it wasn’t like the other Scoobies outside of Tara and Giles were paying attention either. Xander and Anya were currently engaged in another hushed discussion behind the register, and over at the dried herb shelf, Spike had finally half-crawled out and was letting Dawn pet him.

Buffy frowned. She glanced back at the table where Willow was still nowhere close to finishing.

Screw it. She could ask for the cliff notes version later.

“Psst,” Buffy said, sidling over to her younger sister. She ignored the way Giles was frowning at her out of the corner of her eye. “Dawn. Can I talk to you real quick in private?”

“Sure. Can Spike come with?”

Buffy crossed her arms, an eyebrow lifting.

Dawn sighed. “Fine,” she grumbled before turning to Spike. “You’ve got this.” She lifted a hand, palm facing Spike, and he gave her a doggy high-five. Then she picked herself up and followed her sister into the training room.

“Okay,” Buffy said as soon as the door clicked shut behind them. “What gives?”

“What gives what?”

“You. Spike. The petting thing.” When Dawn only blinked in confusion, Buffy sighed. “You get him sprawled out on his back, fully exposed”—she squashed down the mental picture that particular phrase suddenly summoned—“and he’s fine with it. But a single collar that’s not even pink triggers him to snap at everyone in a ten-foot radius. Oh,  _and_  I made this whole Lassie quip about him last night that he was cool with, but one comment from Xander and it’s zoom!” Buffy made a sharp sideways cut with her hand. “Straight under the shelf.”

“Well, yeah,” Dawn said with a dismissive shrug. She settled back against the nearest pommel horse. “That’s cause Spike’s pretty much family. You’re allowed to tease family.”

“What? Spike’s not—” Buffy blinked, fighting to dredge up some— no,  _any_  coherent response. “What?”

Dawn let out an exasperated sigh. She looked up, thinking. “Remember that time in elementary school,” she finally said, “when Mom and Dad were out so we grabbed donuts for breakfast and you were so excited you stuffed yourself and walked around with chocolate smeared over your face the whole day and I didn’t say anything?”

It took a second for Buffy to translate Dawn’s elementary school memory to her own middle school one. “Yeah. And I smacked you afterwards. What of it?”

“Were you mad at me?”

“Duh. Hence the smackage.”

“Were you embarrassed?”

“Well, yeah. I had chocolate on my face.”

“You were embarrassed that other people saw you.”

“Yeah. Is there a point to—?”

“But not that  _I_  saw you.”

“No. Why would I be…?” Buffy swallowed. She had a sinking feeling she knew what Dawn was trying to get at—for once—and didn’t like it.

“And what if it’d been some donut day at school and… I don’t know,  _Cordelia_  had been the one to see and let you walk around?”

“Dawn…” Buffy warned.

“Embarrassed?”

“Maybe, but—”

“Spike and donuts,” Dawn continued. “Mad or embarrassed?”

“That’s different! And Cordelia’s not—! Spike’s not—!”

Dawn crossed her arms and looked pointedly at Buffy.

“He’s not!”

Dawn sighed again. “Whatever. I tried.” She pushed herself off the pommel horse and returned to the front part of the store.

Buffy stayed behind.

Dawn’s example was extremely,  _ridiculously_  simplistic. Real life people didn’t fit into neat categories of ‘mad or embarrassed’ like that. They didn’t. And yet Buffy couldn’t help but start sticking other people—especially other vampires—into that exact same scenario.

Facing off against a random fledge with chocolate unknowingly smeared across her face… well, she’d probably be embarrassed, but not by much because they’d be dust soon anyway. Angel on the other hand… oh god, that was embarrassing just  _thinking_  about. And as for Spike…

Buffy searched for the slightest trace of embarrassment, hunted for it, but none came. He’d probably curl his tongue and grin when she wasn’t looking and she’d be pissed, would definitely clock him in the nose for letting her patrol like that, but that was it.

Buffy wasn’t sure what that meant. Sure, Dawn had her own ‘family’ hypothesis that she was obviously running with, but it couldn’t be right because whatever Spike was, he wasn’t that.

He couldn’t be.

There was a knock at the door.

“Buffster?”

Buffy jumped. Oh crap. Her shift.

She rushed out of the training room. “Xander and I’ve gotta go,” she quickly told the others. “You’ve got this?”

Giles didn’t look pleased. “Buffy, I’d hoped you’d have a bit more time—”

“Great,” she said, cutting him off. “See you later. We’ll be back as soon as we can!”

Making a general wave goodbye to the whole room, Buffy tried to keep her eyes from straying to where Dawn had returned to Spike’s side, the little dog now in her lap. As a weird guilt started to seize her stomach, Buffy grabbed Xander’s arm and rushed out of the store before anything else could stop her.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a weird thing, Buffy having a job that actually  _paid_  her. The one major downside? Having to do said job in the sweltering summer California sun. She didn’t suffer nearly as badly as some of her coworkers—hooray for Slayer powers turning iron beams into toothpicks—but she still worked up a sticky coating of dust and sweat by the end of each day.

The sun was hanging low as Buffy and Xander re-approached the Magic Box. So low that even Sunnydale’s one-story shopfronts cast shadows across the whole street. Buffy held her arms slightly away from her sides, praying that the others had gotten the reversal spell straightened out so she could get home and shower ASAP.

Xander pulled open the front door. “We’re back,” he called out as the welcome bell chimed along with him.

Giles removed his reading glasses and regarded them with a warm smile. “Oh, excellent.”

Beside Giles, Willow had barricaded herself behind a wall of books. She barely looked up at Buffy and Xander’s arrival, instead furiously scribbling on a notepad. Tara had her own book out too but was already tucking it away. Over by the store counter, Anya was on the phone with only god knew who. The left wall was barren and over in the back…

Spike cautiously nosed his head out from under a bookshelf.

Alone.

“Where’s Dawn?” Buffy asked.

“Movies. With one of her school friends.” He turned to Tara. “Janice, I think it was?”

Buffy sucked in a low, quiet breath.

Tara looked nervously from Buffy to Giles. “S-she told us you knew, but…” Tara started.

“I’m assuming now that wasn’t the case?” Giles said.

“No,” Buffy said.

Leave it to Dawn to carelessly run off to the movies in the middle of a canine crisis.

And lie about it.

“Think of it this way,” Willow said, finally looking up from her wall with a hopeful smile. “At least she doesn’t have to worry about getting attacked by demons?”

Giles sighed. “Not the male ones at least.”

Right. The spell.

“So did you guys find a way to reverse it?” Buffy asked.

“Willow’s spell? As a matter of fact we have,” Giles said as Willow went sullen beside him. “Unfortunately the counter spell requires a rare Quwaysna amulet. Anya is working on procuring it as we speak.”

Buffy turned and focused, for the first time, on the actual subject of Anya’s phone conversation.

“What part of ‘ten grand is outrageous’ do you not understand?” Anya’s frown deepened as she listened to the other person’s response. “No!  _Your_ mother is a horska toad!” She slammed the phone down on its receiver, breathing heavily through her nose. After several seconds of silence, she looked up. “What?”

Giles polished his glasses before returning them to his face. “As I mentioned, it appears to be quite rare.”

Anya crossed something off a piece of paper, then held the sheet up for Buffy and Xander to see. “Don’t worry,” she said brightly. “I still have three more artifact dealers in LA to go.” She dropped the sheet and punched in another phone number. “Hi! Is Galina there?” Anya tapped the counter. “Hi, Galina. It’s Anyanka… Ughhh, no, I’m not dead! Who told you that? Was it Rashaan? It was Rashaan, wasn’t it?” She let out a sound of disgust. “I  _knew_  I should’ve castrated him when I had the chance—”

Xander coughed.

Buffy turned back to Giles. “And if we can’t get this amulet?”

Giles gestured to the table in front of him. “Back to the books I’m afraid.”

A small thump grabbed their attention. Willow was dismantling her wall of books and shoving a good number of them into her backpack. “Sorry,” she said, ducking her head. “It’s just, I have my weekly family dinner and if I don’t get going soon, my mom… well…”

“No need to apologize, Willow,” Giles said. “There’s nothing more we can do until we acquire the amulet, so you feel free to take care of any and all family obligations.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you sure you’re good alone?” Tara asked.

Willow finished straightening her backpack. “Yep, totally.” She kissed her girlfriend. “See you later, sweetie!”

Tara was left looking uncertain as Willow practically fled the Magic Box. Buffy couldn’t blame her. The blonde witch had been invited to a Rosenberg dinner last year and… okay, it hadn’t quite been two houses in Verona levels of bad, but with Mrs. Rosenberg going on and on about abnormal sexualities being all part of some general college ‘phase’, it hadn’t exactly been Shakespeare’s greatest comedy either. Buffy had no idea if the two were ever going to try again, or just slowly cut out Willow’s family from their lives the same way that Tara had already cut out hers.

Either way, it felt sad.

“Oh, definitely!” Anya suddenly exclaimed. “We can definitely have it back on your shelves by Monday.” She gave everyone in the Magic Box the okay sign. “Perfect! See you tonight!” She hung up with a wide grin. “Great news! I found a friend of a friend who says we can borrow her Quwaysna amulet for just a small collateral.”

Xander beamed back at her. “That’s great, hon—”

“What’s the collateral?” Giles asked.

“Oh,” Anya said, casually waving her hand. “Just the first ten years of our afterlives.” Her grin remained strong as stillness draped over the room. “What? It’s a good deal! And it’s not like we’re  _not_  going to return it. Galina says we can pick it up tonight. Can you drive, honey?”

Xander, looking queasy at the prospect of post-death bargains, swallowed. “Uh… sure.”

“Thank you!” Anya bounded over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “We’ll need one more person to come with us. Three souls. Magic number and all.”

Giles’ lips pressed thinly together. “I suppose I should—”

“I-I’ll go,” Tara said, standing up.

“Tara,” Giles said. “You shouldn’t—”

“I’ll go,” she repeated.

With minimal fuss, she gathered her things and headed out with Xander and Anya. Giles frowned as he watched the front door swing shut.

“They’ll be okay,” Buffy told him.

He didn’t seem to hear her.

“Giles?”

He flinched, then nodded. “Yes, yes,” he said distantly. “Right. Of course.”

Buffy frowned. It was a generic answer, leaving her unsure that he’d actually heard her.

Across the store, Spike crawled out from his bookshelf hiding place. He stretched his front two legs, then his back ones. He seemed to sense—like her—that there was nothing left for them to do here.

“I should get going too,” Buffy said as Spike positioned himself at her ankles. “I can hit the Mayfield cemetery on the way home, take a shower, and then do a full patrol after.”

That seemed to shock Giles out of whatever funk he’d entered.

“Oh, yes. Definitely.” He started gathering up the scattered books. “Give me a minute to tidy things up and I’ll join you.”

“No need,” Buffy quickly said, not wanting to inconvenience him. “I’ll be fine.” She signaled for Spike to follow her.

“Buffy, wait!” Giles called out.

Buffy stopped halfway out the door.

“We need to talk.”

Uh oh. Those words always spelled trouble.

Buffy turned back. There was a serious look on Giles’ face, and she didn’t like the things it was doing to her stomach. “What’s up?” she asked lightly, trying to break the tension.

“I… well, there’s not exactly an easy way to say this… Do you want to sit down?”

Her nervousness flared. “No.”

“Very well.” Giles sat up stiffly. Took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking of returning to England.”

Buffy blinked and waited for him to say something more.

He didn’t.

“That’s it?” she finally asked. She let out a sigh of relief. “Jeez, Giles. You had me scared for a sec, thinking—”

“Indefinitely.”

Buffy went cold. “What?”

Giles removed his glasses and began to polish them as he stared at a point beyond Buffy’s shoulder. “You must understand, this is not a decision I’ve come to lightly. For years I’ve been contemplating the traditional Watcher-Slayer model, wondering if it’s indeed the best model for not only the success, but the well-being of the Slayer. And now that you no longer need me—”

“What? Giles, that’s not true!” Buffy shouted as Spike growled by her ankles. “Not now, Spike,” she warned, an edge in her voice. The last thing she needed was a functionally mute dog making a messed up argument even messier.

Thankfully, Spike went quiet again.

“Buffy,” Giles said, sounding as frustrated as she felt, which was annoying because he was the one bringing this all up. “You just told me not five minutes ago that you don’t need me. You haven’t in months.”

“I didn’t—” Buffy took a deep breath as she tried to flatten her jumbled, colliding thoughts into a single string of coherency. “Okay, yeah, maybe not for the day-to-day stuff,” she admitted. Because it was true—she hadn’t taken Giles out on patrol with her since forever. “But stuff like today? All the crazy magic?” Seizing on a sudden thought, Buffy snapped her fingers and pointed toward Giles. “We would’ve never found out about that Kuwayway amulet without you.” She smiled, waiting for him to humbly own up to the discovery.

Giles coughed. “That was Tara’s discovery.”

Oh.

“A discovery from one of your books though!” she said, quickly recovering. “She would’ve never found it without your books.”

“You wish for me to be a library?”

“No! That’s not what I…” Buffy winced. She hated words. Hated the way they always seemed to get tangled up between her brain and mouth.

Giles sighed. “You have Willow and Tara as excellent magical resources. Anya, as well, has proven herself to have an unexpected encyclopedic knowledge about demons… although, perhaps not  _so_  unexpected given her origins.” He shook his head. “The fact of the matter is, Buffy, you’ve developed a formidable support network, one that has fully duplicated the skills that I can offer you, and, given that fact, I can’t help but think that my talents might be put to better use elsewhere.”

“Better use?” Buffy scoffed. “Giles, I’m the Slayer! There’s—” She bit her lip as she tried to think of a way to say ‘ _there is no better elsewhere_ ’ without sounding one-hundred percent conceited.

“I know,” Giles said. “And I do fully intend to return to your side one day. For the immediate future though… I need to reevaluate who am I and who I’ll continue to be. If I can meet with the Council and explore what other potential I have to offer—”

“Giles, your  _potential_  is being my Watcher! And if you go on some grand journey to try and find something else, well…” Buffy puffed up and crossed her arms. “Well, you’re not going to find anything, so you might as well not go because you’re just going to be wasting your time.”

“Buffy,” Giles said wearily. “Please don’t be childish.”

“I’m not—!” Her lip trembled, and then straightened back out. Her face hardened. “Come on, Spike.”

“Buffy!” he called out again as she left. “You have to understand, I’m not doing this to punish you but to—!”

Buffy slammed the front door behind her, rattling the frame, and Spike yelped.

“Sorry,” she quickly said, trying to quash down the increasingly heavy feeling that she was doing everything wrong. “I didn’t get your tail, did I?”

Spike woofed. It seemed like an understanding woof.

Maybe.

Buffy sighed and started off towards home. Considering she had another full night before Willow and Tara even attempted the reversal spell, it’d probably be better if she worked out an official ‘ _once for yes, twice for no_ ’ communication system with Spike, but she was too exhausted to set it up right now. Exhausted from work, exhausted from Giles…

“What does he think he’s even doing anyway?” Buffy muttered, looking down at Spike as he trotted faithfully beside her. “He’s my Watcher. Mine. As in he watches  _me_.” She put on an exaggerated British accent: “‘Oh, woe is me! I’m nothing more than a walking library!’ Did he forget he was a librarian when he first came here? You’d think going from librarian to actual library would be a upgrade.” She thought she heard a little doggy snort and took it as encouragement. “And what does he think’s going to happen when he goes back to London, Home of the Stuffy Books and Even Stuffier Bookkeepers? He’s just going to be doing exactly what he’s doing right now,  _minus_  me, so if he’s already feeling bored and useless…”

Buffy stopped.

Except that was just the thing—Giles had been feeling bored and useless and she’d been completely clueless about it. Was she a bad Slayer? Was she supposed to notice stuff about her Watcher just like he noticed stuff about her? What if Xander was feeling bored and useless too? Her friend had definitely brought up the ‘useless’ worries a couple times recently and Buffy hadn’t done anything because she didn’t know if she  _could_  do anything and, oh god, what if Xander decided he also wanted to leave—

A cold wet nose nudged her legs.

Spike let out a soft, concerned whine. Or at least Buffy’s imagination hoped it was concerned.

She rubbed away the tears that’d started to gather. “It’s nothing,” she told him. “Just silly… silliness.”

Before she could think of stopping herself, Buffy sank into a crouch and held out her hand. Spike pressed his head against it, re-positioning her fingers so they were right above his ears.

His soft,  _soft_  ears.

Perhaps Dawn had the right idea about the petting thing after all.

Buffy let her fingers slowly scratch their way down his curly fur until they reached the smooth leather of his collar, the leash of which she suddenly realized she’d left back at the Magic Box.

Shit.

She was only a couple blocks from the store, but the absolute  _last_  thing Buffy wanted was to have to slink back to Giles. Just like that, risking the off-leash fine didn’t seem that bad of a thing anymore. Also, it was past eight o’clock and the dogcatchers were city employees, so there was a good chance the streets were clear for the rest of the night.

Decision made and justified, Buffy withdrew her hand and nodded across the street at Mayfield Cemetery. “Come on,” she said, rising to her feet. “Gotta make sure the girl vamps aren’t going crazy with the sudden breakage of the patriarchy.”

Checking for passing cars, Buffy led Spike across the street. Then, as she reached the cemetery gates, her stomach twisted.

Hard.

The plain turkey sandwich she’d eaten for lunch threatened to come back up. Buffy slapped her hands over her mouth just in time for her knees to buckle. Her spine wrenched and she fell, hitting the ground so hard the world blacked out.

Had she gone unconscious?

No.

Still painfully,  _painfully_  conscious.

Something heavy was pressing on top of her though. Binding her. Blocking her vision. Buffy struggled against it, limbs pulling and tearing at the material until she was suddenly back lying on the ground in Sunnydale, exactly where she’d started. The gates of Mayfield loomed dizzily above her. Spike—still his current terrier-self—stared at her from eye level.

Buffy shook her head and pushed herself up—

And fell straight back down.

She instinctively repeated the motion, but her muscles were all wrong, her very bones seemingly locked into place, and she fell again, stuck on all fours.

Spike barked, pulling her attention.

He was still staring at her, still at eye level…

Dread began to settle in her stomach as Buffy shakily lifted her right hand up into view.

A white paw was in its place.


	7. Chapter 7

Buffy’s thoughts were spiraling.

Paws.

She had paws.

She was a dog.

Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer, was a dog.

She tried to force herself to breathe, but her muscles weren’t working the way they were supposed to anymore. It hurt to hinge her jaw wide, her lungs refusing to take what should’ve been normal gasps of air, and she had to settle for what little oxygen she could inhale through her nose instead.

This had to be part of Willow’s curse. Its messed up focus had already bled out once, affecting half the demons in town instead of the one it was supposed to. It must’ve bled out a second time, affecting even more—

Oh god. What if  _everyone_  was a dog now?

At that thought, Buffy staggered sideways out of the crumpled pile of her now oversized clothes, barely managing to catch herself with her four feet. Paws. Whatever.

She needed to get back to the Magic Box.

Buffy turned and sprinted down the street, ignoring Spike’s high-pitched yaps as he chased after her. It was easier to run on all fours—she’d credit her new body that at least—and the streets blew by as she got closer and closer to the store.

Then she froze, jerking to a halt so fast her back half nearly tumbled over her front.

Up ahead was the Espresso Pump. Behind its counter, a bored barista was in the process of making a latte for a yawning dark-haired girl while a group of young men worked on setting up the sound system for that week’s open mic. All of them were still very much—very obviously—human.

Confusion bubbled up Buffy’s throat into a small whine… except it wasn’t a whine that emerged.

It was a meow.

Disturbed, Buffy tried whining again.

She meowed louder.

The realization pierced slow and distant: Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer, wasn’t a dog.

She was a cat.

Willow’s curse—because, again, this  _had_  to be Willow’s curse—had turned Buffy into a cat.

Buffy tried to stay upright on her paws as her mind spun itself into a fresh panic. Why was she a cat when Spike was a dog? Had Willow intentionally made Buffy a cat because she was a girl? Did Willow really think ‘dog equaled boy’ and ‘cat equaled girl’? When had Willow become sexist like that? Also, rewinding a step, why would Willow make Buffy intentionally  _anything_?

Spike nipped Buffy’s side, jolting her from her thoughts.

She whirled and hissed at him— Ooh, that felt good, the sound tingling through her and mouth stretching in all the right ways as her fangs extended.

Spike ignored her, plowing his head into her side and pushing her towards the mouth of a nearby alleyway.

Buffy sidestepped away. She hissed louder and suddenly became aware of the sharp, sharp claws sheathed beneath her new paws. Hmm… Perhaps the whole ‘cat instead of dog’ thing wasn’t so bad after all. It certainly added an interesting new layer to the eternal Vampire vs Slayer fight. Her tail swished playfully as her muscles tensed. Then, just as she was ready to pounce, Spike bolted and disappeared into the alley.

Buffy blinked at the space where he’d been.

What? Lame.

First he got too cowardly to take her as a vampire, now he was too—

“Stop the van!” a man shouted. “I’ve found another one!”

Buffy turned.

The Sunnydale Animal Control van was half a block away, driving straight towards her. The dogcatcher who’d lectured her and Dawn that morning was in the driver’s seat (so much for sticking to government hours) with another younger man beside him. With them came the increasingly familiar sound of muffled barking, splintered now by the occasional cat yowl.

Shit.

Buffy darted into the alley after Spike. She heard the van pull to a stop behind her. The click as the dog catchers’ seat belts unbuckled.

Dog  _and_  cat catchers.

The alley seemed to narrow itself into an endless tunnel. Flimsy crates and trash bags lined its sides, offering no protection if a human decided to sweep them aside. There were no turns. No way to lose them.

A small, quiet woof gained her attention.

On her right was a large metal dumpster, the kind that only a machine could lift. Underneath it, a space just big enough for a small pet to squeeze into. Buffy knew, even without seeing him, that Spike was under there.

Still, she hesitated. A rotten stench poured off the dumpster, not as bad as it would’ve been with her human nose, but still vile…

A clang cut through the alley as the van doors slammed shut.

Cursing Willow to a hundred failed future exams, Buffy squeezed herself beneath the dumpster. Her fur brushed against something wet—first on the metal above, then the pavement below—and she didn’t know which felt worse. She kept wriggling forward desperately, blindly, until she hit something soft and warm.

Spike.

She stared at him as her new night vision adjusted, letting her make out the colorless features of his doggy face in the cramped, nearly black space. As she visually traced the lines of his snout, of his flattened ears, her mind started to detach itself from its current reality. Even for Sunnydale, this was too surreal to be happening—Buffy was hiding under a dumpster from dogcatchers with her ex-mortal enemy. She must’ve done something absolutely terrible in a past life, because there wasn’t another single logical reason she could think of that could’ve possibly led her here.

“Did you see which way it went?” one of the dogcatchers asked, wrenching her back to the present.

“No,” the other said. Their voices were getting closer. Footsteps too. “Shit. First a plague of dogs. Now cats. What the hell’s going on?”

Buffy’s heart raced faster—‘cats’ plural meant it was more than just her affected after all.

“Sunnydale. That’s what. Warned you it wasn’t going to be easy.”

Carefully, Buffy twisted herself around so she was facing the alley. She wasn’t going to let them snatch her from her hiding spot without warning, hands wrapping around her back legs and pulling—

She shivered at the thought.

“Christ, Sunnydale,” the second dogcatcher said. “I mean, we all heard stories, but we thought they were jokes, you know? The kind you older guys tell us new one from mackin’ in on a cushy gig?” A pair of boots came into view—Buffy held her breath—and continued walking past. “You think they’d let me transfer back to LA?”

“No one else’s had much luck but hey. Everything’s worth a shot.” Another pair of boots appeared… then stopped. They turned, facing the dumpster. “Hey, Carlos. What do you think of this?”

“The dumpster?” Carlos asked.

“Yeah.” The boots crouched down and suddenly a man’s face came into view—middle-aged with dark circles under his eyes, the Collar Lecturer. Buffy instinctively backed away until her whole rump was pressed against the brick wall. “Looks like the kind of spot a cat would pick.”

Despite looking straight at her, the Collar Lecturer didn’t seem to see Buffy, so that was good. And he looked absolutely exhausted, meaning there was a still a possibility that—

“If you think you can get it without calling in a truck,” Carlos said. “Sure. Why not?”

The Collar Lecturer rummaged at his belt for something.

A second later, the world flooded with bright painful light. Buffy hissed.

“It’s here alright. And it’s got a friend.”

Buffy blinked, trying to see something,  _anything_ , as Spike growled softly beside her.

“Great. Need help?”

“Yeah, I’m going to fish ‘em out. Just be ready with the net.”

The meaning of his words sunk in despite Buffy’s pain and near blindness. The two men intended to take them to the pound and… oh god. Spike had a chance with his collar, but Buffy had heard enough animal welfare lectures (from Willow, ironically, of all people) about the general fate of stray cats that couldn’t be claimed for one reason or another.

A long metal stick suddenly pushed itself against Buffy’s left side, blocking escape from that side of the dumpster and herding her towards the opposite one. Towards the second man waiting with the net. Buffy frantically scrambled together a barebones plan and looked sideways at Spike, hoping…

He looked back. A silent understanding passed through both of them.

As the stick pushed harder, Buffy darted forward and sprang towards the Collar Lecturer with a loud hiss.

“Shit!” He fell back, dropping the stick as he waved his thick gloved hands to protect his face.

“Watch out!”

“I am! I am! Get it!”

Knowing she only had a few moments of stunned confusion on her side, Buffy pushed all her energy into her legs and sprinted for the alley entrance.

A frightened yelp rang out behind her.

The sound cut through her spine, forcing her to look back.

The Collar Lecturer had Spike by the scruff of his neck. He dangled from the Lecturer’s grip, all limbs squirming to break free, uselessly scratching and kicking at nothing but air. Before her conscious mind could reason otherwise, Buffy charged the Collar Lecturer. Condensing herself into a little fur cannonball, she launched herself at the exposed area of skin right above his glove, teeth and claws bared.

“Fuck!” he shouted in pain, dropping Spike.

Buffy dropped as well. She reveled, for a split second, in the fiery glow of not being so helpless after all, until the sudden whoosh of air. And the net that appeared around her.

“Got ‘im!”

Buffy stood frozen in shock, and then instinct kicked in. She struggled to escape the net like she’d escaped her clothes but there wasn’t enough tension. The thin nylon moved whenever her paws did and all too soon she was completely tangled.

She looked up in desperation.

Spike was standing a foot away. Watching her.

Hope flaring bright, Buffy meowed at him to attack the dogcatchers. To free her like she’d just freed him—

And then he bolted.

Buffy stared helplessly after him, his form shrinking smaller and smaller until he disappeared completely out of the mouth of the alley.

He was gone.

He’d left her.

He’d actually  _left_  her.

“Ha!” Carlos laughed, holding the net that was trapping Buffy. “Looks like cats and dogs can’t be friends after all.”

“Shit,” the Collar Lecturer said. He showed his arm to his coworker. “Think it broke the skin?”

Carlos studied the red lines scratched up and down its length. “Nah,” he finally said. “No blood. You’re good.”

“Thank God. Rabies shots are a bitch.” He looked at Buffy with a sudden terrifying coldness in his eyes that set her fur on edge. She involuntarily backed up as far as the net allowed her, ears flattening back. “Wait here with it while I grab the cage?”

With that, Buffy’s system rebooted itself. She couldn’t sit back and just  _let_  them toss her into the pound with no way to escape or signal to anyone where she was. She thrashed at the net, trying again to claw her way out. Maybe if she held one paw against it and sawed with the other—

“Yeah, make it quick,” Carlos said.

Buffy sawed faster but only succeeded in getting as tangled as she had the first time. Pathetic yowls began to involuntarily make their way out of her throat. What was so bad about stray cats existing that they were tormenting her like this? She hadn’t been harming anyone. It wasn’t even like she’d been with a male cat making lots of little starving baby cats.

She couldn’t stop yowling, even as she knew it was useless. Her patheticness wasn’t going to magically pierce the dogcatchers’ hearts and convince them to let her go. It hadn’t even managed to pierce Spike’s…

Spike.

Buffy let out one last drawn out yowl as the Collar Lecturer returned with a large thick blanket in one hand and a travel kennel in the other.

Spike had abandoned her.

She still didn’t know exactly why that hurt as much as it did, but it did.

The blanket was tossed over her. Buffy instinctively squirmed against it, but its thickness made it impossible. Then the world tilted itself several times and she was being half-pushed, half-dropped into the travel kennel. As she hit its bottom, the top latched shut above her, like the lid of a well being pushed permanently into place.

After one last world tilt, Buffy was carted away. She clung low against the kennel as it rocked with the dogcatcher’s every step.

Trapped.

Helpless.

At the van, the Collar Lecturer stood back as Carlos opened the back doors. The previously muffled yowls and yelps rose to deafening levels, the whole cargo area packed from floor to ceiling with kennels full of every shape, size, and breed. There were yapping, bouncing Pomeranians; a pair of Siamese throwing themselves at their bars; Dobermans growling bloody murder; and—towards the bottom of the kennels—a particularly sad-looking Shar-Pei sitting quietly with droopy eyes that stared off into space, the very picture of hopelessness and depression.

The Collar Lecturer shoved Buffy’s kennel on top of the others. “Looks like we’re just about full.”

“For this round,” Carlos said.

“Yeah,” the Collar Lecturer agreed with a sigh. “For this round.” He stepped back, glancing from animal to animal for a moment, and then slammed the van doors shut, plunging Buffy and the others into total blackness.


	8. Chapter 8

Buffy would’ve been pacing right now. If she’d had room to pace.

When she’d arrived at the pound, she’d been moved from the portable kennel to a cheap metal cage—obviously temporary since the ones built into the walls were completely full. But even the temporary ones didn’t seem like they were going to last long. After Carlos and the Lecturer had finished transferring the last of the animals from the van, Buffy could count seven… maybe eight cages that were still free.

Buffy did _not_ want to stick around to find out what would happen once the pound couldn’t accept any more animals, but she didn’t seem to have many options other than sticking around at the moment—dogs triple her size were throwing themselves at their cages without any visible dents.

Perhaps she could fake some hacking fit and play dead to get the one remaining night shift staff member—an older woman sitting at a computer desk across from the main wall of cages—to check on her. Only, between all the barking and jumping and yowling, there was no way the older woman would ever notice one hacking cat, let alone one playing dead, so… yeah. So much for that plan.

Still, Buffy had to think of _something_. She watched as the older woman glacially worked through an encyclopedia-thick stack of papers. Every so often she adjusted her glasses, jostling the beaded string that connected its ends. Buffy had no idea how long Beady Glasses planned to continue working, but it couldn’t be all night. And once she did leave, she’d flick off the lights, leaving Buffy trapped alone in the dark with all the other demons.

All the other demons minus the one she wanted.

Spike.

No matter how much Buffy tried to keep focused on some kind of escape plan, she couldn’t help but fixate on his betrayal. Her fur puffed up just thinking about it. She had taken him into her home, cooked him dinner, allowed him to sleep in her room, and his ultimate repayment had been to _run away_? As soon as she got out of here, he was dust. Granted, she couldn’t exactly handle a stake right now and Spike wasn’t currently a vampire that _could_ dust, but she’d do her best with fangs and claws and wouldn’t let the irony of that stop her—

A frantic knocking at the shelter’s entrance jolted Buffy out of her vengeful fantasies.

Beady Glasses craned her head toward the open doorway that led to the lobby. “We’re closed!” she shouted.

The knocking only grew louder.

Sighing, Glasses left her desk and disappeared into the lobby. Buffy pressed against the corner of her cage for a better view, but ‘better’ was relatively terrible. She heard the knocking stop and then:

“Hi!” said an unmistakable, cheerful voice that set Buffy’s heart racing. “I think you have a pet of mine? By mistake.”

“Miss, even if that’s true, you can come back in the morn— Stop! Pets aren’t allowed in here without a leash!”

A little brown dog—Spike—sprinted into the back room, raising fresh hell from the surrounding animals. He ignored them, his doggy eyes scanning cage after cage, not stopping until—

His eyes met Buffy’s.

Spike’s whole face lit up as he broke into a doggy grin, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He immediately started yapping, the sound mixing with the rest of the deafening noise.

“Please, Miss.” Beady Glasses’ words were equally hard to hear. “You need to leave—”

“I can’t! I need my dog _tonight_!” Dawn shouted back. “My other dog, I mean. She’s— She’s my grandma’s service animal. She can’t go a single night without it.”

Buffy couldn’t hear whatever Beady Glasses said next, but moments later the older woman returned to the back room, Dawn at her heels. Buffy straightened in her cage.

“She’s, uh…” Dawn started. Spike had stopped in front of the bottommost cage in Buffy’s stack, resting silently on his haunches, staring up at her like he had the night they’d fought Glory. Dawn swallowed as her eyes swept over the other five cages above and below Buffy. “It’s…” She started by pointing at the bottom cage, raising it up and up, until Spike barked at her to stop. Her face scrunched in confusion. “This one?”

Beady Glasses lifted an eyebrow. “That’s a cat.”

Dawn coughed, eyes darting from Buffy to Spike, who made no gesture to correct her. “Yeah, uh— Oh, whoops! Did I say service _dog_? I meant service cat.” She made an awkward laugh. “Long day. Late night.”

Beady Glasses continued to stare, then sighed and sat down at her desk. “Address?” she asked, shaking the computer mouse to clear its screensaver.

“Huh?” Dawn scooped Spike up, lifting him until he was level with Buffy again. Her arms wrapped around his stomach, letting his lower half dangle, exposing a clearly wagging tail.

“Your grandmother’s address,” Beady Glasses said. “So I can pull up her animal’s registration.”

Dawn flinched. “Oh. That’s— uh…”

The older woman’s eyes narrowed. “If it’s a service animal, it should be registered.”

“She is!” Dawn said quickly. “She’s just…” Her eyes snapped wide. “Kitty Fantastico!”

“Excuse me?”

“Kitty Fantastico! Is her name,” Dawn said more confidently. She smiled and rattled off their address.

Buffy curled in on herself as Beady Glasses slowly inputted the information. When Willow and Tara had moved into the house on Revello Drive, they’d brought their small cat with them. It’d had been a cute cheerful thing, full of energy and life… until about a month ago when Buffy had accidentally left the kitchen door open and it’d gotten hit by a car.

Maybe, somehow, this whole ordeal was not the usual dose of Sunnyhell randomness, but instead some messed up karmic payback for Buffy accidentally killing Willow’s cat?

Buffy didn’t get too long to ponder that. Since they’d never deregistered Miss Kitty Fantastico, the City of Sunnydale’s records checked out and Beady Glasses reluctantly handed Buffy over to Dawn. After a brief lecture on keeping animals not only collared but microchipped as well—“A tiny and painless procedure,” Beady Glasses explained, “inserted right between the shoulder blades”—they all managed to escape, Spike on leash again and Buffy being held by Dawn, scratching at her itchy new collar with her back leg.

As soon as they got out of sight of the shelter, Dawn dropped Buffy lightly onto the sidewalk. Spike trotted up to her, sniffing her fur.

Buffy hissed.

“What the hell, Buffy?!” Dawn said. “Spike just helped save you.”

Buffy’s ears flattened. She reluctantly knew that—it was the only way Dawn would’ve figured out where she was—but she also didn’t want to let go of the idea that if Spike hadn’t abandoned her in the first place, she wouldn’t have had to experience the trauma of the pound at all. Except… as she thought about it more and more, it probably _had_ been the right decision. Dawn recognized Spike. Listened to Spike. She wouldn’t have recognized or listened to Buffy.

Still, that didn’t mean Buffy had to accept that knowledge with open arms.

Or limbs, rather.

Paws.

Whatever.

“Although,” Dawn said, “that’s assuming you’re actually Buffy like Spike says you are. Well. Not _literally_ says, but you know what I mean.” She crouched down and stared straight into Buffy’s eyes. “If you are Buffy, I’m guessing this is more Willow’s Magic Gone Wild.” Dawn scrunched her nose. “But you’re not a demon, so I don’t know why you would’ve gotten zapped by it… unless, I don’t know, it’s tied into you being all freakishly strong and aggressive Slayer, rawr.”

Buffy did her best to give her little sister a cat scowl. She didn’t like when Dawn called her a freak, but since it was pretty much the same conclusion Buffy had come to, she guessed she couldn’t get _too_ mad over it.

“Course, you could also just be some random female demon friend of Spike’s,” Dawn continued. “Not that he knows any female demons, ‘cept, like… Harmony.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not Harmony, are you?”

Buffy puffed up with a low mrowl. Of all the bimbos to get her mixed up with—

“Okay! Okay!” Dawn quickly said. “That’s obviously a ‘no’ then.” She paused, tapping a finger on her chin. “Drusilla?”

As Buffy puffed up further, Dawn’s mask broke and she burst out laughing. Buffy realized with cold shock that her sister had been messing with her—messing with her in her hour of torment—and with their new height difference, there was no way to punch or wipe said laughter off Dawn’s face. Irritation bubbled up inside her. Spike was in range though—and looking equally, annoyingly amused—so Buffy swiped a paw at his nose, making him yelp.

The resulting pleasure was cut short by Dawn smacking Buffy lightly on the head. “No! Bad Cat-Buffy!” she admonished before turning to Spike who was now whimpering. “Aww… Did the mean, awful Buffy hurt you?” She picked him up and cradled him in her arms.

Buffy stared up at Spike in shock and disbelief. She’d barely touched him, and ex-master vampires didn’t magically turn into whimpering puppy dogs—even when magic was involved. He totally had a higher pain tolerance than that. The jerk had to be milking it up for the attention and cuddles.

And Dawn was falling for it.

With no other way to express her frustration, Buffy devolved into a series of hisses and spits.

“What?” Dawn said. “You hurt him, so now I’m comforting him. Only good boys get hugs and scratches.”

To prove her point, Dawn started scratching the space behind Spike’s ears. His eyes involuntarily closed, then cracked open, looking directly down at Buffy. She could just imagine his vampiric smirk, could hear his voice saying, _That’s right, Slayer. I’m a_ _good_ _boy._

And she was left powerless on the ground. No way to clock him in the nose. No way to do anything. Except stare helplessly as Dawn began to cart him off in the direction of home.

“Come on, Buffy,” Dawn called out when Buffy didn’t immediately follow. “Home’s a mile and a half away, and I’m hungry.”

Buffy’s tiny stomach growled, and she realized she was hungry too.

And tired.

And—this realization adding itself to the rest, sinking in deeper and more pathetically than all the others—she wasn’t going to be getting that post-construction work bath she’d wanted.


	9. Chapter 9

Buffy stood in the foyer as Dawn flipped on light after light. The house that she’d lived in for the past five years looked alien from just twelve inches off the ground.

Her younger sister called the Magic Box first, got no answer, and then called Giles’ house for the same result. As she started dialing other numbers, Buffy was powerless to tell her that Xander, Tara, and Anya were all on a road trip and that Willow was at some family dinner… although considering Buffy’s new paws, she was having doubts about that last one.

“Where is everyone?!” Dawn whined, dropping the phone after her latest failed call. “Do they really expect  _me_  to take care of everything?!”

Buffy, meanwhile, was getting the hang of her new jumping muscles. Ratio-wise, they were on par with her Slayer muscles. Maybe better. She sprang up onto the couch cushions and then onto the top of its back rest. The view from there was closer, but not  _quite_  the same as her usual vantage. As Dawn stared at her, Buffy tried to shrug—which didn’t work with her new muscles—and ended up just staring back instead.

Dawn let out a groan. “Whatever. At least everything’s sort of chill right now…” She looked between the two animals. “You guys want dinner?”

As Spike barked in agreement, Dawn crooked her finger to lead him into the kitchen. Buffy remained on the couch for a minute longer, not wanting to give up her newly reclaimed height, before she eventually she gave in and followed.

Dawn had her head stuck into the pantry when Buffy entered. Trepidation skittered across her fur; Dawn’s cooking was terrible.

Luckily, Dawn seemed to know her own limitations. “Insta chicken soup?” she said, pulling out a super-sized can. “I  _think_  that’s edible for all of us.”

After no protests—verbal or otherwise—Dawn plopped the contents into three microwavable bowls. She nuked them for several minutes, and then set two of them on the floor next to Spike and Buffy.

“Bon appétit,” she said, raising her bowl with both hands.

Buffy stared at Dawn as she slurped spoonlessly from the edge of her bowl, then at Spike face down in  _his_  bowl, then at her own bowl. It was too low for Buffy to reach just by lowering her neck; she’d have to lower the entire upper half of her body. She reluctantly did so.

Attempting to actually  _eat_  the soup came next. Buffy spent several seconds with her mouth submerged in the thick goopy broth before realizing the muscles that normally sucked stuff up weren’t there. She tried anyway, drawing on her decades of basic drinking experience, then started to cough and spit. Her head instinctively jerked back up, covered in soup.

“Oh no, Buffy!” Dawn said. “I think cats have to use their tongues. Like this.” Dawn demonstrated. Poorly. “Uh… Spike’s got the hang of it! You can watch him!”

Buffy turned to Spike, who was staring at her. Staring way too intensely as broth continued to drip, drip, drip off her soaked nose. He was enjoying this, that bastard—

Frustration escaped her in a sharp hiss, and he quickly went back to eating.

“Buffy! You can’t keep hissing at Spike! It’s not nice.”

Buffy hissed at her too.

“Buffy!”

Suddenly not feeling anywhere near as hungry as she thought she’d been, Buffy left the kitchen and sauntered towards the living room. She glanced back to see if Dawn was going to come after her and drag her back, but the hallway remained empty.

It remained silent too.

Buffy had no idea if that was because Dawn wasn’t talking to Spike or if she was just talking too softly to hear… It was tempting to go back and make sure they weren’t talking about  _her_ —or eavesdrop if they were—but Buffy remained strong.

She began to wander around the house, slowly taking in everything from her new floor-friendly perspective. There wasn’t much she could do as a cat. The TV remote’s buttons were too small and closely spaced for her to operate. Same went for the computer. Willow had left one of her lesbian romance paperbacks on the coffee table though, and Buffy was pretty sure her human reading comprehension was still intact since she’d recognized the road signs on the walk back home.

After studying it from several angles, Buffy knocked  _Racing the Rain_  off the coffee table. She pounced on it as it hit the floor and began work on cracking it open to the first page. It wasn’t easy. The book’s spine was stiff and wanted to keep shutting itself, and even once she’d finally settled into a good position with both forelimbs bracing the edges, it became a mini-battle each time she needed to turn the page. Her claws were the only things that could turn a single sheet at a time, and they easily got stuck. Page nine was particularly troublesome, and she impatiently shook her paw to dislodge it.

The page tore with loud rip.

Uh oh.

With the scene where the two lovers met scrunched beneath her right paw and the rest of the story beneath her left, Buffy quickly batted both of them under the couch, out of view, and then looked around. Hopefully no one had—

Spike was in the hallway. Staring at her again.

Buffy hissed at him, and he slunk back to the kitchen.

She kept her gaze locked on the space where he’d been as a lumpy ball of guilt started to roll around inside her. Perhaps she shouldn’t be hissing  _quite_  so much… even though it was easy and natural and a totally reasonable thing to do, given everything that’d she been through tonight. And if Spike didn’t want to get hissed at… well, he shouldn’t be doing so many that things made her hiss at him. Like… like staring at her so much. And, okay, maybe it sounded a bit extreme when she thought about it that way, but it wasn’t like she had an easy way of apologizing for it either—not that she wanted to apologize—because cats weren’t exactly known for apologies or showing apology-related affection… short of maybe purring or nuzzling or rubbing herself up against— and oh god, she was  _not_  doing any of that.

Hard core  _not_.

Buffy heard a car pull into the driveway.

Abandoning thoughts of Spike, Buffy jumped up onto the front windowsill and peered through the sheer curtains. Xander and Anya were dropping off Tara. The blonde witch waved goodbye to the two of them and made her way up to the house.

The front door opened.

“Buffy?” Tara called out. “We managed to meet up with Anya’s friend and— Oh.”

She stopped in the entrance of the living room and stared at Buffy.

Buffy’s tail swished.

“Tara!” Dawn ran out of the kitchen, Spike at her heels. “Where is everyone?! Buffy’s been turned into a cat!”

Tara swallowed. “I can see that.”

Dawn frowned in confusion for a moment and then let out a slow breath. “Ohh, right. Aura stuff. Do you know why she’s a cat? Was it Willow? Did she do another spell?”

“I— I don’t know.” Tara’s face—already pale—grew slowly paler. “She didn’t— She said she…” Her hands trembled and she gripped them together . “I have to go.”

“What?” Dawn said, looking completely lost as Tara turned to leave. “But you just got back! What am I supposed to”—the front door slammed shut—“…do?”

Dawn stared at it for a moment and then sighed.

She looked down at Spike, then at Buffy, “I guess if she left you guys with me, it’s not world-ending levels of bad?” she ventured with a shrug. Slowly planting her hands on her hips, she glanced around the room. “Suppose you guys aren’t exactly up for chitchat or board games…” She tapped her foot, gaze still darting from place to place. “TV?

Spike barked happily in agreement. Of course he would. Buffy tried to roll her eyes and only managed to narrow them instead.

“Buffy?” Dawn asked. She waited a second before sighing again. “Whatever. I’m officially taking silence as a ‘yes’.”

Plopping down into the armchair, Dawn grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels. Spike, meanwhile, stared at the couch beneath the window where Buffy was still perched, and then jumped with all four feet onto the cushions. Buffy watched as he turned in a circle, settling himself into comfortable spot, each step leaving behind smudged paw prints on the upholstery—

Buffy inhaled sharply and hissed to get him off.

Instead of obeying, he growled back. Buffy’s ears instinctively flattened.

“Oh my god, Spike!” Dawn cried out. “I told you to stand up for yourself. Not antagonize her further!” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I swear, if Willow had turned you guys into a turtle and a worm, you’d  _still_  manage to find a way to fight.”

Spike and Buffy locked gazes as they challenged each other over which one’d be the worm. Buffy’s eyes narrowed. Spike. Definitely Spike.

“Spike, you can watch the movie in my lap,” Dawn said.

What? Buffy’s head whipped towards her sister—the whole idea was to keep him  _off_  the furniture. She hissed again.

Dawn shrugged. “Hey, you didn’t want him.”

That wasn’t—! It was the hundred dollar dry-cleaning bill she didn’t want, not…

Buffy helplessly watched Spike hop onto Dawn’s lap. If her younger sister noticed or cared that he was getting her jeans dirty, she didn’t show it.

Dawn eventually settled on a re-run of Law and Order and then leaned back, absentmindedly scratching Spike’s ears as the familiar  _CHUNG CHUNG_ echoed around the room. Buffy tried to pay attention to Lennie and Ed as they wandered the streets of New York, but her gaze kept slipping over to Dawn and Spike. With every commercial break, the two seemed even cozier—Spike in some new ridiculous stretched-out pose while Dawn rubbed his belly and whispered things Buffy couldn’t quite catch.

Not that Buffy  _wanted_  to catch them.

It just would’ve been nice to be included.

That was all.

By the time the show reached the trial half of the episode, Buffy’d had enough. She hopped off the window sill and padded over to the hallway.

“Oh!” Dawn called out behind her. “Goodnight, Buffy!”

Buffy paused.

 _Was_  she going to bed now? She hadn’t specifically planned on that, but it wasn’t like there was much else to do…

Her stomach growled softly. Buffy realized she still hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, but she didn’t want what was sure to be cold, congealed soup—assuming Dawn had even left it sitting out. Besides, she’d gone nights without eating before. It wouldn’t be that hard to do it again now.

So bed it was.

Buffy climbed the stairs, hopping up one step at a time. It wasn’t until she reached the second floor hallway that she encountered another unforeseen obstacle—the door to her room was closed. Pushing aside her rising feelings of helplessness, Buffy prowled up to it anyway. She took a couple jump-swipes but, despite her best efforts, couldn’t get a grip on the smooth circular knob. Eventually she gave up and sunk down against the carpet.

Buffy looked back towards the staircase.

She  _could_  go downstairs and meow at Dawn until she opened up her bedroom—giving Spike the satisfaction of seeing her beg… or she could stay right here in the hallway. After all it had carpet, and with Buffy’s new fur that made it as soft as any bed would ever be. Or at least that’s what Buffy repeated to herself as she curled up into a tight little ball, squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to fall asleep.

She had no idea much time passed before she heard the creak of footsteps.

“Oh, no! Buffy!” Dawn cried out, pity dripping in her voice.

Buffy ignored her sister, keeping tightly curled in front of her door. Maybe Dawn would think she was so comfortable that she’d fallen asleep—

A wet nose poked against her side and pushed.

A couple seconds passed.

It pushed again.

An annoyed mrowl involuntarily made its way out of Buffy’s throat.

Dawn sighed. “Spike and I both know you’re still awake, Buffy. So stop trying to act like you’re not.” Hearing a couple clicks and a slow creak, Buffy cracked an eye open. Dawn had opened both bedroom doors. “Now,” she said, “do you want Spike to sleep in your room like he did last night? Meow once for yes, twice for no.”

Buffy stared indignantly at her sister. She wasn’t meowing for anything.

After waiting a moment, Dawn sighed. “Fine,” she said, scooping up Buffy before she could react. Buffy squirmed and yowled, but it was hard to break free without hurting her sister like she had the dogcatchers. “Hey! I gave you a choice and you didn’t take it, so now we’re all sleeping together.”

Dawn dropped Buffy onto the bed and began picking out sleeping clothes. Still fussing to herself, Buffy looked around her sister’s room. Boyband posters stared at her from two of the four walls, and the single bookcase that existed held more old diaries and CDs than actual books. Buffy hadn’t slept in here since junior year in high school, since the couple sleepless nights Dawn’d had after finding out the truth about demons and vampires and her sister’s role in fighting them. Come to think of it, that particular pre-teen crisis had been all Spike-related too—

The bed dipped slightly.

Spike had jumped up onto the covers. He looked at Buffy, the picture of innocence.

Buffy felt her fur puff up. How dare he? He  _knew_  she didn’t want him sleeping up on their beds and he still—

“Hey! Stop it!” Dawn picked Buffy up, pulled her away from Spike, and dropped her lightly on the pillows. “My bed, my rules. So no fighting or you’re back to sleeping in the hallway.”

Buffy glared at her younger sister, who was sooo getting grounded once Willow’s spell broke and Buffy was capable of grounding her again. She had half a mind to take Dawn up on her offer and waltz out of the room… Unfortunately, now that she was here, Buffy was forced to admit that the pillows were, in fact,  _much_  softer than the carpeted floor outside. She reluctantly claimed one as Dawn came back and slipped beneath the covers beside her. Spike, thank god, didn’t seem to be moving from his spot at the foot of the bed. As long as he stayed there, maybe Buffy would end up getting some sleep after—

“Willow and Tara haven’t come home yet,” Dawn suddenly said.

Buffy glanced over. Her sister was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

“I think everything’s still gonna be okay though.” She turned her head towards Buffy, eyes wide and lips slightly trembling. “Don’t you?”

And Buffy suddenly realized just  _how_  wide Dawn’s eyes were, just how equally frustrated and overwhelmed and unsure she must’ve been. And she’d been brave. She’d stepped up to the plate tonight, listening to Spike, following him, storming the city pound after hours, not taking ‘no’ for an answer until Buffy’d been safely back in her care.

One thing was sure: Dawn didn’t deserve a bitchy cat for a sister.

Pushing aside her own issues for the time being, Buffy meowed reassuringly, then kept still as her sister patted her on the head. Somehow content with that tiny gesture of affection, Dawn soon rolled over and fell asleep. Buffy followed suit, shutting her eyes as her own exhaustion swept over her. Whatever happened tomorrow would be Tomorrow-Buffy’s problem. Gradually, she let herself sink deeper and deeper into sleep…

And then the noise started.

Soft but jagged, it cut across her consciousness, dragging her back from the edges of blackness.

Buffy let out a little mental groan as she finally placed it:

Dawn. Snoring.

How could she have forgotten that was a thing?

Buffy lifted her head and glowered at her sister, who was now sprawled out with both mouth and nose wide open. She  _could_  poke her with a claw to wake her up again, but it didn’t feel right after the soft moment that they’d just shared, so Buffy settled back in and tried to ignore the noise.

After several agonizing minutes, she gave up and hopped off the bed.

Luckily Dawn had left both bedroom doors open—Buffy’s by just a crack, but even that was wide enough for Buffy to squeeze her way in. One more hop and she was back in her own bed. Buffy kneaded the covers, raising them into a makeshift nest, and curled up. Peace and quiet at last.

Until the small creak.

Buffy lifted her head with a warning growl.

Spike was standing in the doorway, his slightly larger frame having bumped it wide open. He looked up at her, waiting in silent question.

Buffy slowly considered everything that’d happened that day. In the end, none of it had been Spike’s fault. It’d been Willow’s. And even though Spike  _had_  left her for the dogcatchers, it’d been part of a strategic retreat that Buffy was forced to admit had worked out in the end, so she guessed it wasn’t entirely fair to keep blaming him for that, even if she wanted to…

Whatever. She was a cat. She could be nice, or mean, or merciful, or whatever she wanted to  _whoever_  she wanted without reasoning it out first. And right now she felt like being nice.

Buffy lowered her head.

Moments later, she felt the bed dip.

Buffy twitched. Her silent invitation had been for her room, not her bed…

But perhaps the nuances of that were a  _bit_  hard to pick up on non-verbally. And as long as Spike didn’t try to drag her into some puppy pile, she supposed the difference of bed versus floor didn’t really matter.

So she let it slide.

As for the dirty paw prints he was inevitably leaving on her covers—Buffy shifted again, getting comfier—well, when she set the next monthly round of household chores, she’d just make sure Dawn would be the one doing  _all_ the laundry.


	10. Chapter 10

The entrance bell rang.

“We’re here!” Dawn called out as she entered with Buffy cradled in her arms and Spike at her feet.

“Aww! Buffy, you’re so cute!” Anya said, rushing over from the Magic Box’s counter. She roughly patted Buffy on the head, then leaned down until their noses touched. “I know what your kind do,” she whispered in deathly hushed tones. “So don’t. Touch. Anything.” She straightened with a bright smile. “Xander! Isn’t Buffy cute?”

Xander coughed. “Uh… yeah.” He approached slowly. “Hey, Buff,” he said with an awkward wave before looking at Dawn. “Can she understand us?”

“I don’t know,” Dawn said, lightly sniffing. “Have you asked Willow?”

Over at the main research table, Willow sat with her face buried in a book. Tara and Giles sat beside her.

Dawn cleared her throat, the vibrations passing through Buffy’s body.

“I don’t know!” Willow shouted without looking up. “Buffy wasn’t supposed to get changed with the others!”

“‘Supposed to’? So you  _did_  do another spell, even after everyone said not to.”

Willow hunched down further into her book. If the witch had returned to Revello Drive last night, she’d left again before Buffy had woken up. Her silence bugged Buffy. She suddenly wanted to hop in Willow’s face and hiss until she was forced to face what she’d done.

Dawn seemed to sense Buffy’s thoughts and tightened her hold.

“Dawn,” Tara said. “Giles and I have already talked to Willow and she’s promised—”

Dawn snorted. “Great, ‘cause it’s not like she’s broken any of  _those_  recently…”

“Casting blame is not going to resolve this issue,” Giles said sternly. As he rubbed the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut; the bags beneath them were dark and heavy, like he hadn’t gotten much sleep.

Good, Buffy thought. Served him right for the way he’d lectured her last night.

“Yeah,” Dawn said, looking past him. “Neither is adding more spells on top of the one we’re already trying to undo.”

Willow finally dropped her book. “I was just trying to help,” she whined.

“Well, look what your help’s done!” Dawn shouted, holding out Buffy in front of her. “She was in the pound last night! She could’ve been euthanized!”

Willow went pale. “That— that wouldn’t have happened.”

“That wouldn’t have happened my foot!”

“Dawn!” Giles shouted. “ _Please_. We need… order.”

Order Buffy’s foot.

Buffy squirmed out of Dawn’s hold and hopped up onto the research table. She started for Giles, but then Willow ducked behind her book again, sending Buffy careening into a fresh barrel of frustration. Balancing on her hind legs, Buffy peered over the top of Willow’s book, trying to catch the witch’s eyes.

“Buffy…” Giles warned.

Buffy ignored him.

Willow twitched once, twice, then slammed her book down so hard Buffy jumped. “I’m  _sorry_ , okay?!” she cried. “What do you want me to do?”

Buffy stared at her friend, suddenly wishing her paws were big enough to shake her, because the obvious answer was to have not done the spell in the first place, and maybe, failing that—Buffy didn’t know—actually  _show_  that she was sorry somehow instead of just saying it?

“Buffy,” Giles repeated behind her. “I know you’re frustrated at Willow, but you shouldn’t be—”

Buffy puffed up. She was sick and tired of Giles deciding what she should and shouldn’t be feeling. Deciding for her when he didn’t even want to  _be_ here. She whirled at him, hissing, reveling in the way he instinctively flinched back—that’s right he  _should_  be scared—

And then a pair of hands were picking her up and lifting her away.

“Watch it there, Buffster,” Xander said as he dropped her lightly onto the floor. “I know you’re, uh… emotional right now, but let’s try and not attack Giles over it.”

“What?” Dawn said. “Buffy’s not being emotional. She’s being a cat.”

Xander at least had the decency to stammer. “I- I know that. I just meant, well—” It got worse as Dawn crossed her arms. “Her brain’s physically smaller now, right?” he said, miming the shape with his hands. “So it makes sense that she’d be thinking irrationally.”

A chorus of ughs and groans broke out from the women in the room.

“Sweetie,” Anya said. “I love you. But please stop talking.”

Giles coughed noticeably. “Xander, you mentioned earlier that your work shift would be starting soon?”

“Oh shit!” Xander said, smacking himself in the forehead. “Right.” He looked down. “Buffy, don’t worry about a thing. I’ll tell the others you’re sick.”

He grabbed his car keys and rushed out.

Buffy stared dazedly after him, only vaguely aware of the others as they resumed talking, because the truth was she  _wasn’t_  worried. And she  _hadn’t_ been worrying. She’d completely forgotten about her job after she’d been turned into a cat. She’d forgotten about bills and bank accounts and really anything money related… and even now, actively thinking about it, she couldn’t seem to care as much as she normally did.

And it was kind of wonderful.

“I’ve got the amulet!” Anya said loudly, jolting Buffy from her thoughts. The young woman had stopped counting out the store’s cash to hold up a gaudy golden necklace with pink stones set into its front.

“Yes,” Giles said. “As you’ve shown us multiple times this morning. Now, seeing as we have all the ingredients for the reversal spell, that just leaves the matter of planning the best time and place to perform it. I recommend somewhere near the city shelter, so we can protect the populace from the inevitable wrath of the un-transfigured demons.”

Tara raised her hand. “Um, Mr. Giles? Are we sure Selca’s Basic Reversal Spell is going to help Buffy? She’s not a demon like the others, and none of us have determined the exact reason she was affected yet.”

“Oh,” Anya said, poking her head up from the counter. “That’s because the Slay—”

“Right. Yes. Well, my current hypothesis for that is that Willow’s altered spell expanded to focus on the essence of “predator” rather than anything inherently demonic.”

“Actually,” Anya said, “it’s—”

“It wasn’t supposed to!” Willow said.

“Willow…” Giles said through gritted teeth as Anya sighed and silently punched open the cash register. “Everyone in this room understands that your actions were done with the best intentions. There is no need to continue protesting them. Now as for the reversal itself—”

Buffy sat patiently on the floor as the Scoobies began to discuss the plan for reversing Willow’s curse.

Then she sat impatiently.

On and on they discussed details and strategy, with no one stopping to ask her input on anything. Granted, it wasn’t like Buffy could exactly  _give_ detailed input right now, but they could’ve asked her ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions at least. She wouldn’t have minded meowing for that.

With her attention glazing over, Buffy began to examine the Magic Box. Giles and Anya certainly had a lot of merchandise that seemed… shinier since yesterday. One shelf nearby held a host of dangling crystals of all different shapes and colors. After staring at them a bit, Buffy jumped up to get a closer look, entranced by the way they reflected and refracted the light. She reached out a paw—

A spray bottled doused her with cold water.

“No! Bad Buffy!” Anya shouted as Buffy tumbled off the shelf. “I said  _stay away_  from expensive merchandise.”

Buffy hissed at Anya before skulking off.

“Buffy!” Giles called after her. “I know it must be difficult, but please try to pay attention. These are important plans that include you.”

Buffy glowered internally. Her mentor’s plea would’ve struck much deeper if he hadn’t revealed he was leaving last night. As it was, it didn’t seem like it mattered anymore whether she was mature or immature, and right now as an ‘irrational’ cat… yeah, she was feeling immature.

Spotting a nice dark nook beneath a bookshelf, Buffy crawled beneath it until she was out of reach.

“Buffy…” Giles said.

“Maybe we should give her some space,” Tara said.

“I can do a spell to pull her out,” Willow offered hopefully.

“No!” Giles and Dawn said quickly.

Giles sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Well, I suppose as long as Buffy’s able to listen, the precise location in which she does it doesn’t matter.”

As the planning session resumed, Buffy let her gaze drift casually over the central table. None of the Scoobies seemed to be paying any attention to her now that she was hidden out of sight. Even when her name occasionally popped up, they talked about her like she wasn’t even there. Buffy idly wondered if Spike had been feeling like this the past few days, present but not part of any meeting, his opinions considered as a sort of last minute afterthought, if considered at all…

Of course, they’d all treated Spike like that even  _before_  he’d been turned into a dog.

Buffy studied him where he’d taken a seat on Dawn’s lap, trying to catch his small black eyes and figure… something out. As Buffy stared, Dawn briefly leaned down and whispered something to him. Spike turned his head towards Buffy, then hopped off Dawn’s lap and trotted over. He squeezed under the bookcase with her, settling down a foot to her left.

Solidarity, as Dawn would probably say.

Buffy permitted him to stay. It was only fair since the bookcase had been his spot yesterday. Plus, it was comfier— _way_  comfier—than the underside of the dumpster had been… though still a bit chilly. Giles liked setting the Magic Box’s AC down to freezing, tweed-covered Englishman levels.

Shivering slightly, Buffy glanced sideways at Spike. As an undead vampire, he wouldn’t have added much comfort, but as a living, breathing dog…

With her gaze carefully locked on the Scoobies, Buffy scooched her body an inch to the left, then another, and another, until they were resting side by side, fur pressed snugly against each other. She felt Spike’s muscles twitch, but he didn’t move away.

Good.

Buffy’s eyes slid slowly shut as she gradually blocked out everything beyond the small, dark world of the bookcase. Despite being a reminder of just how screwed up Willow’s curse was, Spike’s fur was warm beside her, and his heartbeat fast and comforting. In the distance, Giles’ lecturing voice created a nice droning sound, making it easy to drift off.

There was a calming vibration too, low and rhythmic and pleasant. The more she noticed it, the louder it grew.

Purring, Buffy suddenly realized.

And it was coming from her.

Her breath caught, and the purring stopped. Her eyes snapped open. Spike was looking at her—staring at her, oh god—but thankfully no one else in the store had seemed to notice.

She shot out from under the bookcase. Then slowed. She needed to look innocent. Careless.

“Buffy,” Giles called out. “I’m glad to see you’ve rejoined us.”

“So what do you think of the plan?” Willow asked, fingers twisting together. “Meow once for yes, twice for no.”

Buffy stared up at them. Shit. She hadn’t been paying attention at all. She let out one very long meow that she tried to make sound like a question.

Giles sighed. 

* * *

Buffy paced the narrow alley beside Mariano’s Italian restaurant. She wished she had hands to flip her stake, to do something other than pace, but no. Her part in the Scoobies’ grand master plan was to wait. Wait for Willow’s curse to undo itself. Wait until she could pull on her post-curse change of clothes that were neatly folded atop a nearby packing crate. Wait to do serious demon damage.

But none of that was happening yet.

And so she paced.

It was a pretty basic master plan, all things considered. Rather than even  _try_  to neutralize the hundreds of demons that’d been locked up in the pound, their goal would be to keep them from lashing out at any nearby humans. For that reason, they’d decided to do the spell at night. Most of the shelter staff had already headed home—Giles would clear out any remaining employees—and all but two of the surrounding shops were closed. Of the ones that remained, Buffy was to protect the Italian restaurant across the street from the pound’s front entrance while Spike took up position at the dive bar across from the pound’s back one. Willow and Tara would perform the counter curse while Anya stuck with them to make sure nothing happened to the super rare Qdoba amulet; Xander was  _also_  sticking with them to make sure nothing happened to Anya; and Dawn—after much protest—was sticking firmly at home.

Lots of stickage all around.

The echo of nearby laughter put Buffy on alert.

She jumped back, watching cautiously from the shadows of the alley’s trash bins as a young couple entered the restaurant. The last thing she needed was a last minute animal control call gumming up the whole plan.

God, she couldn’t wait to be human again. There was absolutely  _nothing_  she was going to miss from this latest Hellmouth misadventure.

Well… maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

After confirming the plan, the Scoobies had decided to split until nightfall. Spike and Buffy had returned home with Dawn to chill for the rest of day, and chilling had been… nice. She’d found a nice sun patch in the living room and had curled up there until Xander had called to check in. Hearing him and all the construction site noise on speaker phone had renewed Buffy’s appreciation for the day off. She hadn’t taken one since she’d gotten the job, not wanting to pass up extra money.

Again she’d tried to feel worried about that, but couldn’t.

And rather than worry about things she couldn’t worry about, Buffy had re-curled up in her sun patch and fallen asleep.

After the nap—and a tuna fish lunch from Dawn—Buffy had started feeling restless. So she’d explored the house until she’d found Spike and began poking at him, and then pouncing on him. It was the only alternative to slaying she had. He’d eventually gotten the picture and fought back until they were both growling and tumbling around the floor.

It’d been… Buffy was hesitant to call it “fun” because “Spike” and “fun” were two words that she was still nervous to put together.

Refreshing.

That was a good word.

She’d also noticed his chip hadn’t activated, and since Buffy had no idea whether that was a temporary or permanent thing, again, she should’ve been actively worrying about that…

But she wasn’t.

As she continued to think of Spike in his current doggy form, she realized she might actually miss that too. It’d been kind of fun scratching behind the ears of the former big bad, watching as he offered up his belly to anyone who’d rub it— well, watching as he’d offered it up to her and Dawn at least. She probably should’ve taken advantage of that before Willow’s second curse had struck; it wasn’t like she was going to get another opportunity after…

Buffy stopped in her feline pacing.

Her nose twitched as other images of Spike’s belly suddenly came to mind. Images with a lot less brown fur and a lot more pale skin—

She shook them away.

 _Focus, Buffy_ , she told herself as she resumed pacing.

Still… she knew how Spike felt about her, even if she didn’t like acknowledging said knowledge. It was easy to keeping telling herself that vampires couldn’t love, and maybe she was right. Maybe they couldn’t. But they definitely did  _something,_  and after all Spike had been doing for her and Dawn, Buffy was starting to wonder whether the exact terminology really mattered anymor—

A sharp charge rippled through the air like static electricity, raising Buffy’s fur.

Distant growls and roars erupted from the city pound.

Finally.

Buffy braced herself, ready for her body to change back. Her clothes pile was right behind her—a t-shirt and sweats, just enough to preserve her modesty—ready to be pulled on.

Nothing happened.

Huh.

Perhaps she had to concentrate on being human for the curse to break.

Buffy closed her eyes and tried that. Tried to imagine the feeling of standing firmly on two feet, the warm massage of her hair getting blow-dried, the sweet cold stickiness of sucking down a blueberry smoothie on a hot hot day.

Still nothing.

The roars got louder. Buffy glanced back at her clothes. If she didn’t turn back soon, she might not have enough time to put them on before—

There was a loud crash as demons charged through the pound’s glass doors instead of opening them. Species after species poured out—tall, short, scaly, hairy, horned, winged—and as they kept coming, Buffy realized one thing with ever-dooming clarity:

She wasn’t changing back.

Buffy retreated into the shadows as one particularly hulking demon lumbered past with an armful of struggling cats. They mewed and yowled, doing their best to break free, and it took every ounce of Buffy’s strength to stay where she was. She watched, helpless, as the demon plucked one up and casually bit its head off.

Oh god.

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and pressed herself closer behind the trash cans.

A demon.

That cat was probably just another demon.

An evil demon.

She still felt like she was going to be sick.

Buffy waited for her stomach to calm itself before reopening her eyes. The demons were bypassing the restaurant so far, apparently more interested in fleeing their bad memories of the pound than in causing new destruction.

Until one stopped.

And turned.

A giant lizard-man demon half-stalked, half-crawled its way toward Mariano’s entrance. Sharp, shiny scales covered its body—near impenetrable, if she had to guess—and its teeth and claws gleamed white in the darkness. It could easily slaughter all the humans inside, and Buffy was the only one who knew it was coming.

But Buffy wasn’t the Slayer right now. There wasn’t anything she could do. If she stepped out, she’d only get herself killed too. She’d only—

Oh goddammit.

Buffy jumped out of the alleyway and into the demon’s path.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the AWOL-ness! Busy past couple months. But I am back now with what should be steady updates for the rest of the story! Thanks for sticking with me. <3

Buffy hissed. The demonic lizardman flinched back, then let out a series of low throaty gurgles.

Laughter. He was laughing at her.

Buffy stood her ground.

As it reached out, she attacked—claws swiping, biting, dodging—until a strong grip tightened around the scruff of her neck and lifted. Her burning heroism started to fizzle, second thoughts rising in its place, as she came face to face with the lizardman. She hissed and spat, desperate to make some impact, but the lizardman didn’t seem fazed as it lowered her down towards row after row of sharp, sharp teeth.

Sheer panic set in. Buffy’s hisses dissolved into shallow, terrified pants.

Something growled.

The lizardman’s head was ripped off.

Buffy meowed pathetically as the body holding her teetered slightly before falling. Something plucked her out of its arms before they both hit the pavement.

“Buffy.”

It was Spike. Spike returned to all of his glorious and deadly vampire glory. And while he’d apparently pulled on some tan slacks, the chest that she was currently being cradled against was pale and bare.

Buffy poked at it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Spike said, pushing her paw away. “Harris left a Hawaiian shirt in the changing pile for yours truly.” He snorted. “Sure he had only my deepest comforts in mind.”

Buffy stared at Spike’s chest a moment longer—only natural since he clearly worked out and she could appreciate that as a fellow warrior—before turning her gaze back towards to the lizardman’s corpse, which was already starting to dissolve. She meowed.

“You’re welcome,” Spike said. “Started noticin’ the demons passin’ by my place were all of the ugly bloke persuasion, and figured things might not’ve gone back to pumpkin for you.”

Spike’s place…

Buffy suddenly realized that Spike being here meant he had abandoned the bar he’d been assigned to protect. She squirmed out of his arms and raced across the street, not stopping until she was in sight of the building. It was still standing—thank god—without even a single broken window.

“See, safe and sound,” Spike said behind her. “No need to get your whiskers all in a twist. Course, didn’t see the point of protectin’ either of them in the first place. The demons here don’t normally attack buildings, and even if they did, it’s not like they’d get more than a single kill in. Sunnyhell humans might be thick, but they’re not thick enough to stick around while their mates are actively gettin’ munched on, which is a bit of a shame if you ask— Oww!”

Buffy scratched him on his exposed ankles. As he picked her up by the scruff of her neck, she hissed and made a couple ineffectual swipes.

“You know,” Spike said, staring her straight in the eyes, “Red missed a golden opportunity turnin’ you into a cat ‘stead of a dog, seein’ how you’re a right little bitch already.”

She hissed again as he calmly placed her on his shoulder. When that didn’t faze him, she nipped at his ear. All he did was chuckle. Frustration built in her like a mob on Black Friday. The more she hurt him, the more amused he got. It was the way it’d always been between them, but seemed abnormally unfair at the moment. It was still nicer on Spike’s shoulder than it was on the ground though, so she stayed where she was.

For now.

With both of their assigned locations untouched and the last of the re-transformed demons gone from the area, Spike made his way over to the tree line at the edge of the animal shelter’s parking lot.

“Spike,” Xander said, the first to notice them. Willow, Tara, and Anya looked up from their spell circle. Giles was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Buffy?”

Spike pointed to where she was perched on his shoulder.

“What?” Willow said. “But it should’ve worked!”

Spike glared at her. “Well, it didn’t.”

“Let me try again—”

“I don’t think that’s very smart,” Anya said. “Galina told me it’s risky to perform more than one spell with the Quwayway amulet. Also Tara is looking very white and pale, which are primary symptoms of being magically drained.” She side-eyed the blonde witch, whose eyes were slipping shut.

Willow waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t need Tara. It’s a simple enough—” She paused as she caught the look on her girlfriend’s face. “I didn’t mean it like that, sweetie.”

“I- I know you didn’t, but…” Tara trailed off, staring at the ground.

They waited awkwardly until Giles returned.

“I evacuated all the shelter employees,” he said as he approached, “but it seems as though only the canine de—” He paused, taking in both Spike and Buffy on his shoulder, and then sighed. “Just as I’d surmised.”

“I offered to try again,” Willow piped up. “But Anya said it’d be better to make Buffy wait as a cat until morning.”

Spike snorted.

“Well, it _is_ powerful magic, Willow,” Giles said. “In this case, I think Anya has a point.” He looked at Buffy. “Will you be alright with waiting, Buffy?”

Buffy glared at him. It wasn’t exactly like she had a choice in the matter. If she rushed Willow and Tara, there was a more than good chance she’d accidentally wind up a toad.

“Perhaps we should pack up and all rest for the night,” Tara said. She gripped Willow’s hands. “Dawn’s probably getting worried.”

They were the magic words.

Willow sucked in a slow breath and then let it all out. “I guess you’re right,” she said reluctantly. Picking herself off the ground, she approached Spike and held out her hands. “Come on, Buffy. I’ll take you home.”

Buffy hissed. Willow still hadn’t given her an apology. Not a real one at least.

“Buffy!” she whined. “You heard the others! I can’t change you back right now. You’ll just have to deal for one more night.”

As Willow reached out again, Buffy batted her hands away and arched closer to Spike’s neck.

“Aww,” Spike said with a curling sneer. “Looks like I currently rank higher up on the Buffy totem pole than you, Red.”

Xander glared at him. “Only because Buffy’s not thinking straight right now,” he snapped.

Buffy hissed at Xander too—she was _so_ thinking straight.

“See!” Xander lifted his palm up. “My point exactly.”

Spike groaned. “Oh, for the love of—”

“Honestly, none of this seems very productive,” Anya said.

“You know,” Willow ventured, “I think with just a simple conjugation change, I could fix—”

“No!” shouted a chorus of voices.

A disgruntled silence settled over the group

Giles sighed. “Everyone go home and rest,” he commanded. As Willow opened her mouth, he added: “If Buffy wishes to remain with Spike…” He closed his eyes, a look of deep suffering passing over him. “Then that is her choice.”

Willow continued to stare at Buffy, hurt practically dripping from her eyes—her trademark Wounded Puppy Dog look. And it might’ve actually worked if Buffy hadn’t been fending off _literal_ puppy dog looks over the past several days.

“Come on, Willow,” Tara said. She stood up, stumbling a little before catching herself. Her breathing was low and steady as she slipped a hand through Willow’s. “Buffy and Spike can figure out what to do on their own.”

Willow gave Buffy one last glance, then let her girlfriend lead her back towards Xander’s car.

As Xander and Anya started to follow, Buffy felt Spike attempt to pet her. Buffy quickly twisted her head, nipping at his fingers whenever they got too close.

Spike chuckled. “Alright, alright. No pettin’.” He paused, noticing Giles staring at him. “What? She’s a cat. Force of habit.”

Giles looked resigned, then shook his head. “So, will you be taking Buffy home or back to your…” His lips lingered at the last word, as if it was dirty. “…crypt?”

Spike blinked. “Hadn’t given it that much thought,” he said. “Or really _any_ thought.” He glanced sideways at Buffy. “Ultimately your decision, love. What’ll it be?”

Buffy swished her tail.

* * *

They ended up doing both—first a quick trip to Spike’s crypt so he could pick up his own clothes, followed by a short trek back to Revello Drive.

“Honey, we’re home!” Spike called out, tossing a wink at Buffy who was still perched on his shoulder.

“Spike!” Dawn rushed out of the living room and bodyslammed into him, arms looping around his stomach. Buffy yowled as the world went sideways; her claws dug in, and Spike hissed. Dawn looked up without loosening her grip. “Buffy, are you okay? Willow and Tara told me about the spell not breaking for you.”

Buffy stared at her, not entirely sure how to answer.

“Spike,” Willow said. She was standing halfway down the staircase. “Thanks for bringing Buffy home.”

Spike shrugged. “Nothin’ you have to thank me for.”

An awkward silence followed

Dawn coughed. “So, uh, Spike. If you’re gonna spend the night again, you can take the couch. Or we’ve got a cot in the basement I could probably set up. Might be safer against the sun in the morning.”

“Right…” Spike looked thoughtful. “Gonna miss that part of bein’ a dog.”

“Spike’s spending the night?” Willow asked, her voice tight.

They all turned to look at her.

“Of course,” Dawn said. “He’s spent the last two here.”

“Well, that’s…” At Dawn’s unflappable look, she took a quick breath. “It’s not that I don’t _not_ want to kick him out, but he was a dog then, and now he’s… Well. So, it’s different now. And— And also, it’s just that it’s, well, _Buffy’s_ house.” Her voice suddenly grew more confident. “So she should really be the one deciding, and I wouldn’t want to go against what she’d want. Now that he’s a vampire again.”

“Good idea,” Dawn said. Turning to Spike and Buffy, she held out her arms. Buffy briefly judged the distance, then hopped forward and let her sister cuddle her close to her chest. “Okay, Buffy. You heard Willow. It’s up to you. Can Spike crash on the couch? Meow once for yes, twice for no.”

Buffy glanced over at Spike, meeting his once again familiar blue eyes with her… actually, Buffy wasn’t sure _what_ color her eyes were right now. She hadn’t looked in a mirror since she’d been turned. Huh. Maybe she should go and check…

Wait.

Immediate problem.

Spike.

Buffy studied the vampire’s face, trying to puzzle out his rather blank, yet wary expression. It wasn’t like she was head-over-heels at the thought of Spike spending the night—she’d never let him stay over before, not as a vampire—but he had saved her life yesterday, which had to count for something, and… well, over the past couple days, it’d been kind of _nice_ having him around. Natural, even.

“Buffy?” Willow said.

And it was an easy way to annoy Willow.

Buffy meowed once.

There was silence as the room waited to see if Buffy would meow again.

She didn’t.

“Yay! Spike gets to spend the night again!” Dawn cheered, twirling with Buffy in her arms.

Buffy yowled at the way-too-fast spinning and resulting dizziness. She squirmed until she broke free, landing on all four paws, and then shook her head to re-stabilize the world.

“Don’t think cats are much for the spinnin’, nibblet.”

“Ooh, we’ve got extra sheets and pillows and blankets in the linen closet! Wait right here!”

Dawn bolted up the steps past Willow, who stayed where she was. Her mouth pressed into a tight line.

“Got somethin’ to say?” Spike asked.

Willow opened her mouth and closed it. She started to walk upstairs, then paused and whirled back around. “You know Buffy’s only being nice to you because she’s mad at me,” she said. “It won’t last.”

Buffy puffed up. How dare she—?! Well. Okay, so, granted, Willow maybe had a _bit_ of a point. But it wasn’t the whole point.

Spike’s expression didn’t change. “That so?”

Willow and Spike stared at one another, the air between them stretching itself thinner and thinner—

“Willow?” Tara faintly called out. “Is everything okay?”

The tension snapped.

Willow turned. “Yeah! Be back up in a second, baby! Just wishing Spike and Buffy a good night.” She held his gaze for several more seconds, then returned upstairs.

As she disappeared, Dawn came bounding back down, arms full of pillows and linens. “Got the stuff! Do you want the couch or cot?”

Spike’s face un-blanked itself as he smiled. “Couch is fine, lil’ bit.”

Buffy glared at the upper floor a bit longer—she was definitely going to have to have some sort of talk with Willow once she switched back—before following the others into the living room where Dawn was setting up Spike’s bedding situation. She briefly studied the fitted sheet before tossing it aside. Grabbing the normal sheet instead, she laid it out over the couch cushions as neat as possible, then the blanket, and then began shoving one of the pillows into its pillowcase.

“You don’t have to do that,” Spike said as she vigorously shook it. “I can make do with the normal ones.”

“No way! I totally got this.”

Spike stepped back, looked at Buffy, and shrugged.

After the couch was finally deemed acceptable—and Spike had tossed his duster onto it for good measure—they made their way to the kitchen. Dawn heated up an instant meal for herself, then portioned off a third for Buffy. As she carried both plates to the living room with a promise of searching the channels for something short and fun, Spike took second claim of the microwave. His usual mug made a small clink against the glass turntable.

Huh.

At what point had their small mug with the red border around the top become Spike’s _usual_ one?

Ignoring the food that was waiting for her in the other room, Buffy stared first at the microwave, then at Spike as he took his mug out. He lifted it up to his lips—his jaw muscles beginning to flex—and then paused.

He looked down at Buffy. “What?”

There was something very liberating in not having to answer.

Spike continued to stare at her, then sighed. “I swear, if God ever put anythin’ on this earth more confusin’ than women, it’d be you cats.” He reached down to try and pet Buffy, but she dodged, letting out a half-hearted hiss. Spike merely snorted before joining Dawn.

Buffy remained in the kitchen. Its various counters and cupboards wrapped around her like cliffs, so close and yet completely out of reach in this new world of hers. She prowled their length, imagining what life would be like if she really was a cat. If it was anything like today had been, there’d be lots of naps and chilling in the sunshine. Which was actually pretty nice. No stress. No slaying. No bills…

“Ugh,” Dawn moaned from the other room. “What’s the point of cable when there’s never anything _good_ on?!”

“Didn’t you know?” Spike said, sounding completely earnest. “Cable schedules are all set by misery demons these days. Designed for maximum inconvenience. It’s how they get their jollies.”

Oh, shit.

The cable bill.

It was due tomorrow, and they couldn’t afford another late fee.

“Okay,” Dawn said. “I have no idea whether you’re being serious on this one or not.”

Buffy rushed into the living room, took a breath, and—ugh, this was so _embarrassing_ —meowed.

Dawn blinked as Spike obviously fought to keep a smirk off his face. “Buffy? What’s up?”

Buffy meowed again, then turned and walked a couple steps toward the kitchen before stopping, waiting for them to put two and two together. Luckily, Spike and Dawn had apparently become experts at both giving and following animal directions over the past several days. They quickly followed her to the kitchen junk drawer where Buffy stretched up and pawed at the handle.

“The junk drawer?” Dawn said, reaching for it. “What do you need in the— Oh.” She stared at the inflatable mountain of paperwork that was steadily rising, now that it had room to expand, and then looked down at Buffy in barely controlled panic. “Uh… What do you want me to do?”

Pay the cable bill. Obviously.

Unfortunately there was no way to convey that in meows.

“Where’s your filing cabinet?” Spike asked.

The two sisters stared at him blankly.

Dawn swallowed. “Uh…”

“Your mum must’ve had one. Smart, organized lady like her.”

“I- I don’t know.” Dawn looked at Buffy. “Do we have one of those?”

Uh…

Now it was Buffy’s turn to go blank. She turned in a circle, certain she’d seen it once upon a time. Had used it, even, before the bills had started piling up faster than she could open them.

Buffy ultimately turned back towards Spike with a pathetic, defeated meow.

“For fuck’s—” Spike spun abruptly and stormed out of the kitchen. Seconds later the front door slammed shut behind him, leaving a heavy silence.

Dawn and Buffy looked at each other.

“Maybe he’s allergic to forms?” Dawn ventured.

Maybe.

Sometimes Buffy doubted the punk vampire could read, let alone figure out the legal nonsense that was corporate billing, so Dawn’s theory made sense… but also didn’t. Spike could face down hordes of angry demons with her but turn and ran at the sight of a few—okay, a bit _more_ than a few—scraps of paper?

Still, whatever the reason…

It hurt.

Dawn leafed through the various bills with hesitant fingers. “So I take it there’s something in here that needs to get paid?”

Yay. Smart sister.

Buffy meowed.

“Soon?”

Buffy meowed.

“Like for real, can’t-wait-until-you-turn-back soon?”

Buffy meowed.

Dawn stared at the mess a moment longer, and then sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Guess we better get to it then.”


End file.
